Rvp         -^e?  w        ~W'  A  f***qK  A  It    "  **, 

""|H.  HAZAR 


The  House  on  Stilts 

A 


BY 


R.  H.  HAZARD 


Illustrations  by 
J.  A.  LEMON 


G.    W.    DILLINGHAM    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1910,  l?> 
STREET  &  SMITH 

Copyright,  1910,  By 
6.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 


TTTE  BOOSE  ON  STILTS 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I.  IN  THE  CLUTCH  OF  THE  SURF  .    . 

II.  THE  YELLOW  QUEEN'S  ORDERS    . 

III.  THE  DOG-MAN'S  TEETH    .    .    . 

IV.  IN  VOODOOLAND 

V.  THE  GOVERNOR-GENERAL  LIES    . 

VI.  AT  THE  DUELLING  GROUND    .    . 

VII.  THE  OTHER  MAN  IN  THE  CASE  . 

VIII.  VARNEY  REAPPEARS 

IX.  THE  BATTLE  ON  THE  ROAD  .    .    . 

X.  THE  YELLOW  QUEEN  STRIKES    . 

XI.  THE  HOUSE  ON  STILTS  .... 

XII.  IN  THE  COPPER  CAVERNS  .    .    . 

XIII.  IN  DEFENSE  OF  THE  MONASTERY  . 

XIV.  FROM  THE  LIBRARY  WINDOW  .    . 
XV.  THE  CAVE  OF  REPENTANCE    .    . 

XVI.  A  NOCTURNAL  ADVENTURE    .    . 

XVII.  THE  DAY  OF  ATONEMENT  .    .    . 

XVIII.  FROM  THE  DOOR  OF  DOOM  .    .    . 

XIX.  A  PROPHECY  FULFILLED  .  .  . 

XX.  THE  CABINET  STANDS  UP  ... 

XXI.  THE  YELLOW  QUEEN'S  LAST  JOKE 


PAGE 

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H  *?  ^ 

JL  *  -». 


JL 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"Please  tell  me  where  I  am,  and  who  you  are?"   Frontispiece  14 

The  Dog-Man 39 

"Are  these  the  statues  of  your  departed  brethren?"    .        .    206 

"Light  your  damned  fire  and  get  it  over  with!"  snarled 
Larry 286 


The   House  on   Stilts 

CHAPTER  I 
IN  THE  CLUTCH  OP  THE  SURE 

FOR  half  an  hour  we  rowed  the  boat  parallel 
to  the  black  cliffs,  looking  in  vain  for  a 
harbor. 

The  ill-fated  Foam,  which  had  brought  us  on 
the  wild  chase  across  the  Gulf  in  pursuit  of  Var- 
ney,  had  disappeared  soon  after  we  had  left  her 
sinking  hulk,  and  with  her  had  gone  the  bodies  of 
the  four  men  of  the  crew,  who  had  lost  their  lives 
in  the  explosion  that  had  wrecked  the  yacht. 
Only  Captain  Billings  and  Engineer  Hollis  were 
left  to  escape,  with  Larry  Sullivan  and  myself, 
toward  the  unknown  land  now  looming,  dark  and 
forbidding,  before  us. 

Discouraging  as  it  was  to  lose  our  man  just 
as  we  were  about  to  overhaul  him,  it  had  given 

us  some  satisfaction  to  witness  disaster  also  over- 

9 


10  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

take  the  tug,  which  we  had  been  following  for 
three  days  and  nights.  The  last  we  had  seen  of 
Varney  was  when  he  rowed  away  from  the  Belve 
dere  with  his  three  companions  and  the  two  big 
leather  bags,  which,  we  knew,  contained  a  million 
of  securities — looted  from  the  Planters'  Savings 
Bank. 

As  Varney's  small  boat  vanished  in  the  swirl  of 
waters,  Larry  shook  his  fist  after  it,  and  cried : 

"He's  got  to  land  on  that  shore,  and  I'll  have 
him  inside  of  twenty-four  hours." 

"Then  you'll  get  him  out  of  Davy  Jones'  locker," 
exclaimed  Captain  Billings,  "for  I  don't  believe 
his  boat  will  live  to  land." 

"A  crook  that's  bound  to  be  hanged  will  never 
be  drowned,"  retorted  Larry. 

Suddenly,  the  black  walls  of  rock  ahead  parted, 
and  revealed  to  us  the  entrance  of  a  little  bay, 
landlocked  and  palm  fringed.  A  shelving  beach 
sloped  down  from  a  crescent-shaped  grove  of 
trees,  and,  as  we  rowed  in  joyfully,  the  sun  broke 
through  the  scudding  clouds  and  bathed  the  scene 
in  tropic  glory. 

But  we  had  not  counted  on  the  breakers. 

Billings  and  Hollis,  who  were  at  the  oars,  saw 
the  danger,  but  too  late.  Although  they  struggled 
manfully  to  evade  the  rocks,  we  soon  found  our- 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  11 

selves  in  the  whirl  of  froth  that  beat  over  a  sunken 
ledge.  In  another  instant,  the  boat  came  down 
with  terrific  violence  upon  the  submerged  rock, 
poised  shuddering  in  the  air,  and  split  in  twain. 

We  were  all  hurled  into  the  water,  and,  as  I 
went  down  in  the  foam,  I  felt  the  sharp  impact 
of  stone  against  my  outstretched  hands.  I  seized 
the  rock  with  the  frenzy  of  despair,  but  another 
wave,  of  greater  bulk,  tore  me  from  it  and  dragged 
me  into  the  depths. 

I  remember  striking  out  wildly  with  hands  and 
feet.  My  eyes  were  blinded  by  a  sudden  glare  of 
sunshine;  I  felt  another  rock  within  my  grasp, 
clutched  at  it  frantically,  missed  it,  was  caught 
up  once  more  by  the  green  fingers  of  the  sea — 
and  things  went  black  and  red  as  my  head  struck 
the  reef. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  YELLOW  QUEEN'S  ORDERS 

WHEN  I  awoke,  I  was  stretched  upon  the  warm 
sand,  and  the  sun  was  shining  hotly  on  my  face. 
I  raised  my  hand,  to  shade  my  eyes,  and,  as  I  did 
so,  uttered  a  moan  of  pain. 

"You  must  have  sprained  that  wrist,"  said  a 
sweet  voice  above  me.  "Perhaps  you  had  better 
try  the  other  one." 

This  time,  when  I  opened  my  eyes,  it  was  to  be 
hold  a  vision  in  a  blue-and-white  bathing  suit. 
The  sun  and  the  breeze  playing  hide  and  seek  in 
her  golden  hair,  made  the  prettiest  picture  I  had 
ever  seen;  and  I  closed  my  eyes  and  opened  them 
again,  to  make  sure  that  I  was  awake.  After 
blinking  at  her  in  this  absurd  manner  for  a  mo 
ment,  I  exclaimed: 

"Are  you  real  ?" 

"Do  you  think  I  am  stuffed  with  sawdust  and 
wound  up  with  a  key?"  she  retorted. 

"I'm  afraid  that  you  came  out  of  the  ocean  and 

12 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  13 

will  go  back  again,"  I  said,  ignoring  her  warning 
frown  and  flashing  eyes.  "Your  face,  framed  in 
its  halo  of  gold,  is  about  the  stunningest  thing  I 
ever  saw.  In  fact,  it's  too  pretty  to  be  true,  and 
I'm  sure  I'm  dreaming." 

"Then  you'd  better  wake  up!"  she  snapped. 
"When  you  come  to  your  senses,  you  may  follow 
the  walk  up  to  the  consulate,  where  your  friends 
will  be  found.  I'm  sure  you  will  arrive  there 
without  any  trouble,  for  your  assurance  will  carry 
you  any  distance." 

With  that,  the  girl  turned  abruptly  and  hurried 
up  the  walk. 

"Oh,  please  come  back!"  I  cried,  sitting  up 
right  and  waving  my  hands  wildly  in  appeal. 
"Please  don't  leave  me  here  all  alone.  I  may  be 
attacked  by  wild  beasts,  or  sharks,  or  something. 
Forgive  me  for  what  I  said.  I  was  tempororily 
out  of  my  head,  and  didn't  mean  it  at  all." 

"Oh,  you  didn't!"  she  blazed,  pausing  irreso 
lutely  in  her  flight. 

"Of  course  I  did,"  I  hastened  to  correct  myself. 
"That  is  to  say,  I  did  and  I  didn't.  I  did  not  in 
tend  to  be  impudent — indeed,  I  did  not — but,  you 

see,  the  fact  is,  you  looked  so  sweet  and I'll 

stop — really  I  will!"    This  last  as  she  started  to 
flee  again. 


14  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

At  this  point  I  struggled  to  my  feet,  but,  to  my 
chagrin,  staggered  unsteadily  about  the  beach, 
and,  but  for  her  lending  me  a  helping  hand,  would 
have  fallen. 

"Believe  me,"  I  exclaimed,  in  great  embarrass 
ment,  "I  did  not  take  too  much  grog  before  I 
landed.  I  think  I  must  be  light-headed  from  the 
sea  water  I  drank." 

"Or  from  the  pounding  you  got  on  the  rocks," 
she  said  sympathetically.  Then  she  added,  as  I 
still  held  her  hand :  "Don't  you  think  you  can  stand 
alone  now?  If  you  cannot,  you  had  better  sit 
down  again,  and  wait  for  the  stretcher  that  your 
friends  have  gone  to  fetch." 

"Of  course  I  can,"  I  replied,  in  confusion.  "So 
that  is  why  they  deserted  me?  I  was  wondering 
that  they  left  me." 

"Too  bad  that  you  were  left  in  such  incompe 
tent  hands  as  mine,"  she  flashed.  "You  are  to  be 
pitied." 

"Yes,  I  am — because  every  time  I  speak  I  make 
a  fool  of  myself,"  I  cried.  "Now,  please  forgive 
me  again,  and  let  us  change  the  subject.  Please 
tell  me  where  I  am,  who  you  are,  what  happened 
to  Varney,  how  I  was  rescued,  and  all  about 
it." 

"All  at  once,  or  in  instalments?"  she  asked, 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  15 

with  a  smile  that  showed  two  marvelous  dimples. 

"On  the  instalment  plan,  if  you  please,"  I  said, 
"and  I'll  take  it  as  a  favor  if  you  will  tell  me  about 
yourself  first.  Just  imagine  that  that  big  palm 
tree,  there,  is  a  mutual  acquaintance.  Mr.  Palm 
begs  to  present  to  you  John  Smith,  a  reporter  on 
the  World-Union,  of  St.  Louis,  who,  in  company 
with  Larry  Sullivan,  the  best  plainclothesman  on 
the  force,  is  in  search  of  Joseph  Varney,  a  crook 
of  the  first  water." 

"Delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr. 
Smith,"  laughed  the  girl.  "  'This  is  Miss  Norelle 
Pierson,'  continues  Mr.  Palm,  'the  daughter  of 
General  Herbert  W.  Pierson,  United  States  consul 
at  Gabrielle.' " 

"Gabrielle !"  I  cried,  in  dismay.  "Surely,  I  can 
not  have  landed  upon  that  awful  island." 

"Why  do  you  call  our  pretty  island  awful?" 
asked  the  girl.  "Can  you  imagine  any  scene  fairer 
than  this?  Did  you  ever  behold  more  stately 
palms  than  those  nodding  toward  the  sunlit  water, 
or  more  dreamy  hills  than  those  in  the  distance?" 

"Gabrielle  is  a  theatre  of  horrors,  which  I  would 
not  have  visited  for  a  fortune,"  I  replied.  "It  is 
associated  with  the  darkest  page  of  my  life.  My 
father  was  murdered  here." 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said  simply.    "I  regret  that 


16  THE    HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

I  was  the  means  of  reopening  the  wounds  of  grief.'* 

"My  father  was  a  member  of  the  Baxter  expe 
dition,  which  was  lost  here,"  I  continued,  my  mem 
ory  flying  back  a  decade,  and  the  old  sorrow  grip 
ping  my  heart.  "You  probably  remember  the  sad 
story." 

"I  knew  it  long  before  we  came  here  to  live," 
said  Miss  Pierson,  "and,  since  our  arrival,  have 
heard  it  repeated  by  many  tongues.  Those  who 
joined  in  the  vain  search  for  the  explorers  have 
told  us.  Somewhere  over  there  in  the  green 
mountains" — she  raised  her  arm  and  pointed 
toward  the  hazy  peaks — "every  vestige  of  the 
brave  little  party  vanished.  They  could  not  have 
disappeared  more  completely  had  the  earth  opened 
and  swallowed  them." 

"That  may  have  happened,"  I  said.  "Some  con 
vulsion  of  the  earth — some  volcanic  disturbance 
— may  have  overwhelmed  them.  The  most  gen 
erally  accepted  belief,  however,  was  that  they 
were  murdered  by  the  savage  blacks  of  the 
interior." 

"But  there  is  always  hope,  so  long  as  there  is 
no  proof  of  death,"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "Who 
knows  but  that  your  coming  was  directed  by 
Providence?  Who  knows  but  that  you  may  find 
your  father  here?" 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  17 

"Impossible,"  I  replied.  "It  is  quite  beyond  the 
realm  of  belief.  But  do  not  let  me  sadden  you 
with  my  family  tragedy.  Allow  me  to  escort  you 
back  to  the  consulate ;  and,  on  the  way,  if  you  will 
be  so  kind,  enlighten  me  further  as  to  my  sur 
roundings  and  yourself." 

We  took  up  our  walk,  side  by  side,  along  the 
shell-strewn  beach. 

"Can  you  tell  me  anything  of  Varney's  where 
abouts?"  I  asked.  "He  must  have  landed  on  the 
island,  about  half  an  hour  before  us.  He  had 
three  companions  with  him,  and  carried  two  large 
satchels.  Those  satchels  contained  a  million  dol 
lars'  worth  of  negotiable  securities.  If  you  can 
give  me  a  clue  to  his  whereabouts  you  will  be 
assisting  justice  and " 

"And  will  help  a  bright  young  newspaper  man 
to  claim  a  big  reward,"  interrupted  Miss  Pierson, 
with  mockery  in  her  tone. 

"Of  course,  both  Larry  and  I  hope  to  get  a 
reward,"  I  admitted,  "but  we  should  be  here  this 
very  minute,  just  the  same,  if  there  wasn't  a  cent 
in  prospect.  Varney  robbed  an  army  of  poor  peo 
ple.  There's  no  telling  how  many  unfortunate 
tradesmen  went  to  the  wall  when  the  crash  came, 
or  how  many  suicides  and  robberies  followed  in 
the  wake  of  his  embezzlement.  He  is  one  of  the 


18  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

greatest  villains  unhung,  and  it  is  to  right  some 
of  the  wrongs  that  he  has  done  that  Larry  and  I 
have  taken  the  journey.  Varney  is  a  dark-com 
plexioned  man,  of  about  forty-five,  and  when 
last " 

"When  last  seen,  was  making  away  with  the 
million  dollars  in  one  hand  and  the  beautiful 
maiden  in  the  other,"  exclaimed  Miss  Pierson 
mischievously. 

"Not  exactly,"  I  replied.  "As  far  as  we  were 
able  to  ascertain,  there  was  no  woman  in  the  case, 
at  all." 

"Then  it  is  all  the  more  remarkable — all  the 
more  mysterious,"  cried  Miss  Pierson.  "I  take  it 
that  he  is  handsome,  has  large,  eloquent  eyes,  and 
can  sing  adorably." 

"I  do  not  know  about  that,"  I  replied.  "But 
have  you  seen  him?  We  are  wasting  precious 
time,  if  you  will  pardon  me  for  saying  so ;  but  you 
know  every  minute  counts,  when  you  are  chasing 
a  fugitive." 

"Were  the  satchels  made  of  leather  ?"  she  asked. 
"Of  strong,  durable,  waterproof  leather?" 

"Of  course!"  I  cried,  with  rising  excitement. 
"Then  you  have  seen  him,  sure  enough." 

"And  did  Varney  watch  his  companions — oh,  so 
jealously! — lest  they  steal  the  precious  satchels 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  19 

when  he  wasn't  looking?"  she  went  on,  her  eyes 
fairly  dancing  with  merriment. 

"Of  course,  Varney  guarded  the  loot,"  I  cried 
impatiently.  "Now,  please  tell  me  the  direction 
in  which  they  were  going  when  you  saw  them 
last." 

"And  were  they  all  armed  to  the  teeth?" 

"Yes — oh,  yes!"  I  cried.  "Tell  me,  before  they 
get  too  far  away.  Every  moment  is  worth  a  thou 
sand  dollars."  I  was  boiling  over  with  excite 
ment,  and,  before  I  realized  what  I  was  doing, 
seized  her  arm. 

"Well,  then,  just  to  satisfy  your  curiosity,"  she 
said  finally,  "I  have  not  seen  them  at  all,  and  you 
will  do  me  a  great  favor  to  release  my  wrist.  It 
must  be  black  and  blue,  from  your  frantic  grip." 

I  dropped  her  arm,  and  stammered  a  blundering 
apology. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  beg  your  forgiveness," 
she  went  on,  "for  trifling  with  your  young  news 
paper  affections.  It  was  very  unkind  of  me — 
indeed  it  was! — so  to  treat  a  stranger  upon  our 
shores;  but  I  had  no  idea  that  you  were  so 
impressionable." 

"I'm  just  a  plain,  unvarnished  fool,"  I  man 
aged  to  blurt  out.  "You  gave  me  only  half  what 
I  deserved." 


20  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

"I  should  not  have  treated  a  guest  so  shabbily," 
she  continued,  in  tones  that  had  lost  all  trace  of 
sharpness.  "So,  if  you  will  agree  to  forgive  and 
forget,  we'll  hurry  back  to  the  house,  and 
save  your  friends  a  useless  trip  with  the 
stretcher." 

We  walked  along  the  beach  in  the  direction  of 
an  American  flag,  which  was  floating  over  the 
grove  of  palms ;  and  for  a  time  neither  of  us  ven 
tured  to  break  the  spell  of  silence  which  had  fallen 
upon  us.  Finally,  just  as  we  turned  to  enter  the 
grove,  Miss  Pierson  pointed  to  the  breakers,  boil 
ing  at  the  entrance  of  the  harbor. 

"The  waves  of  Toro  Bay,"  she  said,  "did  their 
best  to  keep  you  out.  They  always  do  the  Yellow 
Queen's  bidding." 

"The  Yellow  Queen?"  I  echoed.  "Who  on  earth 
is  she?  I  thought  that  Gabrielle  belonged  to 
Spain.  What  has  the  Yellow  Queen  to  do  with 
the  waves  or  with  us?" 

"More  than  you  dream  possible,"  replied  Miss 
Pierson  sombrely.  "Spain  claims  the  island,  and 
manages  to  hold  St.  Croix,  and  two  or  three  other 
towns  upon  the  coast.  But  over  there — where 
you  see  Mont  Lazarre  smoking  his  pipe — she 
holds  absolute  sway." 

"And  who  are  over  there?"  I  asked. 


THE    HOUSE   ON   STILTS  21 

"The  Yellow  Queen's  people,  and,  farther  to  the 
west,  the  Dumb  Monks." 

"And  the  queen's  people  are " 

"Voodoos — blacks — savages — cannibals !"  she 
replied,  with  a  shudder.  "They  are  as  low  in  the 
human  scale  as  the  aboriginal  African  stock  from 
which  they  sprang.  Their  queen  is  a  woman  who 
possesses  strange  powers ;  she  controls  the  winds 
and  the  waves,  the  volcano,  and  the  wild  beasts  of 
the  jungle.  She  sent  that  storm  to  drive  you  away 
from  the  island,  you  know." 

"But  I  do  not  know  anything  of  the  sort,"  I 
retorted.  "Do  not  tell  me  that  you  believe  any 
such  stuff  as  that.  It's  a  long  time  since  we 
Americans  burned  our  witches." 

"I  do  believe  a  great  deal  of  it,  nevertheless," 
replied  Miss  Pierson,  her  face  growing  very  grave 
indeed.  "How  can  I  help  believing,  after  witness 
ing  some  of  the  awful  things  that  woman  has 
done.  She  is  believed  to  have  killed  the  last  Amer 
ican  consul — my  father's  predecessor." 

"Horrible!"  I  cried.    "Tell  me  more  about  her." 

"Not  now,"  she  said.  "Before  you  have  been 
here  long  you  will  learn  more  about  Joan  of 
Lazarre,  as  she  calls  herself,  than  you  will  care  to 
know." 

"And  the  other  people  that  you  mentioned — 


22  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

did  I  understand  you  to  call  them  the  Dumb 
Monks?" 

"Yes;  they  are  a  sect  of  sun  worshippers,  who 
live  in  a  great  monastery,  perched  on  upright  tim 
bers,  high  above  the  ground,  against  the  face  of  a 
cliff.  Most  of  the  islanders  call  the  monastery 
the  House  on  Stilts. 

"No  one  seems  to  know  very  much  about  the 
monks.  Some  believe  them  to  be  the  survivors  of 
the  Aztecs ;  others  believe  them  to  be  the  descend 
ants  of  the  lost  tribes  of  Israel.  They  worship 
the  condor  as  a  sacred  bird,  and  all  who  join  the 
order  take  the  vow  of  eternal  silence.  It  is  even 
whispered  that  all  who  become  members  of  the 
brotherhood  submit  to  having  their  tongues  torn 
out." 

"That's  cheerful !"  I  exclaimed.  "One  of  these 
days  I'll  pay  them  a  visit.  Think  what  a  splendid 
Sunday  story  a  write-up  of  the  monastery  would 
make." 

"If  you  will  take  my  advice,  you  will  find  a  safer 
subject  for  your  Sunday  story,"  said  Miss  Pierson. 
"Those  who  have  attempted  to  pry  into  their 
secrets  have  invariably  met  mysterious  ends; 
those  who  have  gone  to  visit  the  House  on  Stilts 
have  never  returned." 

"Strange  that  I  never  heard  of  them  before,"  I 


THE   HOUSE  ON  STILTS  23 

mused.  "I  thought  I  became  letter  perfect  about 
Gabrielle,  ten  years  ago;  but  I  suppose  that  the 
monks,  as  well  as  the  Yellow  Queen,  have  come 
into  public  notice  within  the  last  few  years  ?" 

"The  monks  have  been  here  for  centuries," 
replied  the  girl,  "but  the  Yellow  Queen's  reign  has 
not  been  of  more  than  seven  or  eight  years." 

After  plunging  through  a  belt  of  trees,  we 
emerged  upon  a  clearing,  surrounded  by  a  stout 
wire  fence,  and  came  in  view  of  the  consulate.  It 
was  a  pretty  cottage,  of  the  two-story  bungalow 
type,  and  reminded  me  of  many  homes  I  had  seen 
in  Florida  and  California. 

As  we  approached  the  gate,  four  men  emerged 
from  the  house  and  came  toward  us.  In  addition 
to  Larry,  Captain  Billings,  and  Engineer  Hollis, 
there  was  an  elderly  man,  of  tall  and  angular 
build,  who,  even  at  thirty  yards  distance,  bore  a 
startling  resemblance  to  President  Lincoln.  Hol- 
lis  carried  over  his  shoulder  a  green  window 
blind,  which,  I  presumed,  was  to  be  used  for  my 
accommodation.  The  quartette  espied  us  in  a 
moment,  and  set  up  a  shout. 

"Sure,  he's  all  right,  all  right!"  cried  Larry, 
rushing  toward  us,  and  lapsing  into  the  Irish 
brogue  which  he  often  used  when  under  stress  of 
excitement.  "General,  you  can  go  back  to  your 


24  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

biscuits,  for  the  boy  doesn't  need  the  stretcher,  at 
all,  at  all." 

Lincoln's  likeness  hurried  down  the  walk,  with 
outstretched  hand.  "Please  do  me  the  honor,"  he 
exclaimed,  "of  introducing  me  to  your  companion, 
that  I  may  congratulate  him  upon  his  providen 
tial  escape  and  welcome  him  to  our  humble 
abode." 

"This  is  Mr.  Smith,"  exclaimed  Miss  Pierson, 
not  waiting  for  Larry  to  perform  the  ceremony. 
"Mr.  Smith — my  father.  You  see,  daddy,  he  came 
to  almost  immediately  after  you  left;  and,  of 
course,  we  had  to  get  acquainted.  Very  luckily 
for  the  conventions,  Mr.  Palm  was  there  to  make 
the  introduction  in  proper  form;  so,  even  mother 
can  have  no  occasion  for  criticism." 

"Mr.  Palm?"  echoed  the  consul,  meanwhile 
shaking  hands  with  me  most  vigorously.  "Who 
on  earth  is  Mr.  Palm?" 

"Mr.  Cocoanut  Palm,  down  by  the  water's 
edge,"  continued  Miss  Pierson,  with  a  mischie 
vous  laugh.  The  introductions  had  to  be  made  in 
due  form  by  some  one ;  and,  really,  he  was  the  only 
introducer  in  sight.  But  he  was  a  pronounced 
success — wasn't  he,  Mr.  Smith?" 

"The  grandest  introducer  I  ever  met  in  my 
life,"  I  agreed  warmly. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  25 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  incorrigible,"  said  the  con 
sul,  beaming  upon  his  beautiful  daughter.  "But, 
dear  me!"  he  exclaimed.  "This  will  never  do.  I 
must  go  back  to  my  biscuits,  or  Mrs.  Pierson  will 
never  forgive  me." 

With  this,  he  hastened  back  toward  the  house, 
and  we  followed  him,  at  a  more  leisurely  pace. 

Then  it  was  that  I  noticed,  for  the  first  time, 
that  my  three  shipmates  had  strangely  altered 
their  appearance  since  last  I  had  seen  them. 
Each  was  garbed  in  the  long,  black  clothes  of 
half  a  century  ago ;  each  was  dressed  like  Lincoln. 
When  they  had  arrived,  dripping,  from  the  sea, 
the  consul  had  evidently  outfitted  them.  The 
effect  was  decidedly  antique. 

A  little,  gray-haired  lady  appeared  upon  the 
porch  as  we  ascended  the  steps. 

"This  is  Mr.  Smith,  mother  dear,"  said  Miss 
Pierson,  as  we  reached  the  top  of  the  steps.  "He 
had  the  narrowest  escape  of  all,  you  know,  and 
has  come  to  join  the  Abraham  Lincoln  party." 

"Let  me  congratulate  you,  sir,"  began  Mrs. 
Pierson,  in  a  high-pitched,  though  not  unpleasant, 
voice.  I  am  so  glad  that  you  escaped  from  that 
dreadful  ocean.  Anybody  who  ventures  upon  it 
and  escapes  with  his  life  is  to  be  felicitated,  I  am 
sure;  and  one  who  has  been  shipwrecked  more 


26  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

than  most.  Now,  gentlemen,  I  do  hope  that  you 
will  make  yourselves  at  home;  and  I  trust,  more 
over,  that  you  will  forgive  the  general  topsy- 
turviness  of  things  about  the  house.  Celeste,  our 
cook,  has  not  returned;  and  goodness  knows  how 
the  general  is  getting  on  with  the  biscuits.  He  is 
out  in  the  kitchen,  wrestling  with  the  baking  pow 
der  and  cornstarch  now." 

"Not  cornstarch,  mother,  dear!"  corrected  her 
daughter,  with  a  laugh.  "Who  ever  heard  of 
cornstarch  in  biscuits?" 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Pierson  plaintively.  "You  see,  when  I  was  a  girl, 
I  never  so  much  as  looked  inside  the  kitchen. 
Now  I  almost  wish  that  I  had  learned  to  do  some 
sort  of  work;  for  the  negroes  nowadays  are  such 
an  incompetent,  trifling  set — not  at  all  to  be  com 
pared  with  those  we  used  to  have  before  the 
war.  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  the  times  have  sadly 
changed.  When  I  was  a  young  girl  my  mother 
would  no  sooner  have  allowed  me  to  learn  to  cook 
than  she  would  have  allowed  me  to  go  out  alone 
with  a  young  gentleman.  Now,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  girls  do  both,  and  nothing  is  thought  or  said 
of  it." 

"And  they  are  none  the  worse  for  it,"  said  Miss 
Pierson. 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  27 

"And  none  the  better,"  retorted  her  mother, 
with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"I  must  agree  with  Mrs.  Pierson,"  observed 
Larry,  with  a  sly  wink  in  my  direction. 

I  was  about  to  champion  the  daughter's  cause, 
when  she  abruptly  changed  the  subject. 

"Don't  you  think,  mother,  it  would  be  a  good 
idea  to  find  Mr.  Smith  something  to  wear?"  she 
said.  "You  know  he  has  not  changed  his  clothes 
since  his  ducking." 

"Oh,  by  all  means.  A  thousand  pardons,  Mr. 
Smith!"  cried  the  little  lady,  all  of  a  flutter.  "I 
wonder  what  you  can  think  of  me,  and  of  my 
bringing  up.  You  will  forgive  me,  won't  you? 
You  know  we  have  been  so  much  disturbed  lately, 
with  all  these  mysterious  Voodoo  things  going  on 
about  us,  that  it  is  really  a  wonder  that  I  have 
retained  my  senses.  Now,  won't  one  of  you  gen 
tlemen  be  good  enough  to  take  charge  of  Mr. 
Smith,  and  see  that  he  finds  a  change  of  raiment?" 

"I  will,"  volunteered  Larry,  arising  from  his 
chair  and  leading  the  way. 

"Oh,  thank  you  so  much !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Pier- 
son.  "You  see,  the  general  is  right  busy  just  now, 
with  his  hands  in  the  baking  powder  and  salt 
petre,  or  he  would  show  you  the  way  himself." 

"I  suppose  father  is  making  gunpowder,"  said 


28  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

Norelle,    with   a    laugh,    as   we   left   the   room. 

"It  might  not  be  a  bad  idea  if  he  did  make  a  lot 
of  gunpowder,  for  we  may  need  it,"  said  Larry, 
in  my  ear,  as  we  ascended  the  stairs  to  the  gen 
eral's  bedchamber.  "If  I'm  not  greatly  mistaken, 
there's  going  to  be  need  for  all  the  arms  and 
ammunition  that  we  can  scrape  together,  before 
long." 

"What's  all  the  trouble  about,  and  what  kind 
of  trouble  is  it?"  I  asked,  as  Sullivan  dived  into 
the  clothes  closet  and  began  tossing  forth  gar 
ments,  as  though  he  owned  the  establishment. 

"I  haven't  figured  it  all  out  yet,"  replied  Larry, 
as  he  brought  out  another  suit  of  black.  "But,  as 
near  as  I  can  diagnose  the  case,  this  here  Yellow 
Queen  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  trouble.  For 
some  reason  or  other,  she  has,  apparently,  got  it 
in  for  us.  She  predicted  a  week  ago  that  we  were 
coming,  and  stirred  up  a  storm  on  the  sea  to  send 
us  to  Davy  Jones'  locker." 

"Oh,  say,  now,  you're  joking!"  I  cried. 

"It's  likely  to  be  a  serious  joke  before  we  get 
through  with  it,"  replied  Larry,  very  soberly. 
"After  you  talk  with  the  Piersons  a  bit,  you'll 
change  your  mind  about  the  yellow  lady.  She's 
some  punkins  around  these  parts,  let  me  tell 
you." 


THE    HOUSE   ON   STILTS  29 

"But  who  is  she,  and  why  has  she  got  it  in 
for  us?" 

"Ask  me  something  easier.  Both  questions  too 
hard  for  the  witness.  She  seems  to  be  the  whole 
thing  on  the  island.  The  blacks  worship  her,  and 
the  whites  have  a  very  wholesome  respect  for  her 
powers,  which  are  not  to  be  sneezed  at.  In  some 
unaccountable  way,  you  and  I  seem  to  have  riled 
her  majesty;  and,  if  you'd  believe  the  dear  old 
lady  downstairs,  our  lives  are  not  worth  more 
than  four  bits  apiece." 

"You  don't  really  mean  to  say  that  we  are  in 
danger?"  I  asked,  stopping  abruptly,  with  one  leg 
thrust  into  General  Pierson's  trousers.  "Why, 
we  never  even  saw  the  woman,  or  heard  of  her, 
before  this  day." 

"I'm  not  worrying  a  little  bit,"  replied  Larry, 
with  a  hearty  laugh  at  my  evident  consternation 
of  spirit.  "The  Yellow  Queen  is  evidently  a  pretty 
good  weather  prophet,  and  when  she  sees  a  storm 
coming  or  a  volcanic  eruption  on  the  way,  she 
hustles  around  and  predicts  them,  and  thereby 
gains  a  great  reputation.  As  long  as  I've  got  my 
forty-fives  with  me,  I'm  not  afraid  of  a  whole 
island  full  of  Voodoos." 

"Still,  the  general's  daughter,  as  sensible  a  girl 
as  she  seems  to  be,  evidently  takes  a  whole  lot  of 


30  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

stock   in  the   Voodoo   queen's   powers,"   I   said. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  haven't  a  doubt  of  it,"  agreed  Sulli 
van.  "I  never  saw  a  woman  yet,  bright  and  intel 
ligent  and  sensible  as  she  might  be  on  every  other 
subject,  that  couldn't  be  scared  stiff  by  a  little 
Hindoo  fakirism,  or  'black  art/  as  the  Voodoos 
serve  it  up.  You'll  probably  see  some  tricks  down 
here  that  will  keep  you  guessing  for  a  time ;  but, 
when  you  understand  'em,  they're  all  simple 
enough.  Now,  Jack,  whatever  you  do,  don't 
worry.  We'll  not  let  all  the  Yellow  Queens  this 
side  of  Hades  prevent  us  from  getting  Varney  and 
taking  him  back  home.  All  dressed?  Then  let's 
go  down  and  see  how  the  general  is  getting  along 
with  the  biscuits." 

When  we  reached  the  lower  floor,  General  Pier- 
son  was  just  emerging  from  the  kitchen.  His 
face  was  flushed  and  perspiring,  and  one  hand 
was  wrapped  in  a  towel. 

"The  grandest  biscuits  you  ever  saw  in  all  your 
days,  mother,"  he  cried.  "Captain  Billings  is  cer 
tainly  a  wonderful  chef.  He  came  to  my  rescue 
just  at  the  crisis  of  my  culinary  career.  I  really 
don't  know  just  what  he  did  to  make  the  pesky 
things  rise,  but  rise  'em  he  did ;  and  you'll  all  glory 
over  the  result." 

"He  merely  left  out  the  baking  powder,  that 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  31 

was  all,"  laughed  the  captain,  who  followed  the 
general  into  the  living  room.  "But  honor  to  whom 
honor  is  due.  Miss  Pierson  discovered  that  he 
hadn't  used  any  risin' — I  really  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  But  I  promise  I'll  go  my  share  at  the  table." 

"But  what  is  the  matter  with  your  right  hand, 
my  dear?"  cried  Mrs.  Pierson,  on  the  verge  of 
tears,  as  she  noticed  the  towel  tied  around  his 
wrist.  "Oh,  my  dear,  you  have  not  hurt  yourself ! 
Tell  me,  you  did  not  gash  it  with  the  biscuit 
cutter?" 

"It  is  nothing — nothing  at  all,"  replied  the  gen 
eral,  with  a  wave  of  the  bundled  member.  "You 
see,  I  poured  off  the  water  from  the  potatoes,  and, 
in  my  hurry  to  prepare  the  meal,  forgot  all  about 
steam  being  hot.  But  it's  wrapped  up  in  baking 
soda,  and  the  sting  is  almost  all  gone — in  fact,  it's 
almost  well  now.  But,  come,  we  are  wasting 
precious  time.  The  fare,  such  as  it  is,  awaits 
your  pleasure.  I  trust  you  will  forgive  our  failure 
to  ma"ke  more  elaborate  preparations  for  your 
entertainment.  Although  we  were  expecting  you, 
our  cook  failed  us  at  the  psychological  moment, 
and  you,  therefore,  find  us  just  a  little  bit  dis 
organized  in  the  culinary  department." 

"You  say  you  expected  us?"  echoed  Captain 
Billings,  as  we  took  seats  at  the  table. 


32  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

"The  Yellow  Queen  said  we  would  have  stran 
gers  in  the  house,  and  I've  got  so  I  generally  rely 
on  what  she  says,"  replied  the  general. 

"Tell  us  about  her,"  I  begged. 

"If  you  do,  I  shall  not  eat  a  morsel,"  cried  Mrs. 
Pierson  petulantly.  "I  have  heard  so  much  about 
that  terrible  woman  that  I  am  now  on  the  verge 
of  nervous  prostration.  Still,  my  dear,  perhaps  it 
would  be  just  as  well  to  put  them  on  their  guard 
against  her.  In  fact,  I  think  it  would  be  very 
inhospitable  of  you  if  you  did  not,  general." 

"She's  a  sort  of  prophetess  in  bronze,  I  believe," 
remarked  Sullivan. 

"She's  almost  everything,"  began  our  host. 
"She  is  a  witch,  a  doctor,  a  preacher,  a  tax  col 
lector,  and  an  executioner.  She  runs  the  volcano 
over  there  to  suit  her  moods,  brings  on  drouths 
when  she  is  in  a  bad  humor,  and  slaughters  a  few 
dozen  of  her  black  subjects  to  fetch  back  the  rain. 
She  poisons  wells  and  sows  crops  of  snakes  about 
the  villages  that  are  not  loyal  to  her.  In  fact,  to 
make  a  long  story  short,  and  to  use  a  slang 
expression,  she  is  It  on  the  Island  of  Gabrielle; 
and,  if  you  want  to  keep  out  of  trouble,  let  the 
Yellow  Queen  have  her  way.  Perhaps  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Thomas,  my  immediate  predecessor  in  the 
consulate,  died  by  poison,  supposed  to  have  been 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  33 

administered  by  the  Yellow  Queen's  orders,  gives 
me  an  unusually  wholesome  respect  for  the  lady." 

"I  am  surprised  that  Spain  doesn't  put  a  stop 
to  her  crimes,"  I  exclaimed. 

"After  two  Spanish  governor-generals  had  met 
mysterious  and  painful  deaths  trying  to  do  what 
you  suggest,  old  Mother  Spain  gave  it  up  as  a  bad 
job,"  continued  the  general.  "The  last  one  to  go 
had  sentenced  her  to  the  garrotte  at  noon  of  the 
very  day  he  died.  She  was  on  the  way  to  the 
prison  yard,  where  the  execution  was  to  take 
place,  when  the  proceedings  were  brought  to  an 
abrupt  close  by  the  announcement  of  the  governor- 
general's  sudden  taking  off. 

"The  orderly  who  went  to  his  office,  to  notify 
him  that  Joan  of  Lazarre  was  awaiting  his  pres 
ence,  to  be  garrotted,  found  the  governor-general 
seated  at  his  desk,  stone  dead.  There  were  marks 
of  fingers  about  his  throat,  and  the  physicians 
who  were  summoned  declared  that  he  had  been 
strangled.  Yet  the  guards,  stationed  at  his  door 
and  beneath  his  window,  had  seen  no  one  enter 
or  depart. 

"The  commandant  of  the  prison  ordered  the 
execution  to  be  postponed  until  the  following  day, 
then  changed  his  mind  about  killing  the  Yellow 
Queen,  and  allowed  her  to  depart  in  freedom  at 


34  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

midnight.  What  happened  between  noon  and 
midnight  to  cause  him  to  take  this  action  is  not 
known.  He  succeeded  the  official  who  was  stran 
gled  to  death,  and  you  may  guess  that  he'd  rather 
cut  off  both  his  hands  than  order  her  arrest." 

"She's  got  'em  all  pretty  well  bluffed,  that's 
evident,"  commented  Larry.  "It's  a  good  thing 
for  the  lady  of  color  that  she  doesn't  live  where 
Old  Tige  Corrigan  could  get  his  hands  on  her. 
She  wouldn't  last  long  in  any  city  with  him  acting 
as  chief." 

We  all  pronounced  the  dinner  a  distinct  suc 
cess.  The  biscuits  were  especially  good;  and  the 
general,  his  daughter,  and  the  captain  all  came  in 
for  their  share  of  compliments. 

"Well,  it  certainly  does  my  heart  good  to  look 
upon  honest  American  faces  again,  after  seeing 
nothing  but  black  and  yellow  visages  for  weeks  at 
a  time,"  said  the  general,  as  he  gallantly  cut  the 
meat  upon  his  wife's  plate  and  spread  butter  upon 
her  yams.  "You  see,"  he  continued,  as  though  we 
had  remarked  the  unusual  attention,  "I  really  can 
fix  her  food  better  than  she  can." 

"Before  the  war,"  remarked  the  lady,  in  a 
plaintive  tone,  "my  maid  used  to  cut  my  meat  and 
feed  me.  If  I  had  only  known  what  was  in  store 
for  me,  in  these  later  years,  I  really  believe  I 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  35 

would  have  learned  to  do  more.  As  it  is,  I  can 
not  even  bake  a  potato  or  boil  an  egg.  I  assure 
you,  ladies  were  ladies,  before  the  war." 

The  sound  of  sobbing  in  the  adjoining  room 
interrupted  the  conversation  at  this  point. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  the  general,  laying  aside 
his  knife  and  fork. 

"It  is  Celeste  crying,"  said  Norelle,  arising  and 
going  through  the  door. 

In  another  moment  she  returned,  leading  a 
good-looking  young  mulatto  woman,  who,  in  her 
turn,  held  the  hand  of  a  boy,  four  or  five  years 
old. 

Both  the  woman  and  the  child  were  crying  bit 
terly.  The  youngster  was  visiting  us  with  evident 
reluctance,  for  he  struggled  and  held  back  with 
all  his  strength.  When  he  was  finally  dragged 
well  within  the  dining  room,  he  plumped  himself 
upon  the  floor,  and  sobbed  louder  than  ever. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter?"  demanded  the 
general.  "Stop  that  bellowing,  Celeste,  this  very 
minute,  and  tell  us  what  ails  you." 

The  mulatto  woman's  only  reply  was  another 
wail.  She  caught  the  child  in  her  arms,  and 
began  kissing  it  fiercely,  meanwhile  sobbing  an 
incoherent  string  of  French  and  Spanish  phrases. 

"They  are  going  to  take  the  boy  from  her," 


36  THE    HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

explained  Norelle,  whose  face,  I  now  observed, 
was  pale  as  death. 

"Well,  why  not,  if  they  treat  him  kindly  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Pierson.  "Celeste  is  really  in  no  position  to 
care  for  him  properly,  anyway." 

"The  Yellow  Queen  demands  the  boy!"  con 
tinued  Norelle,  in  a  scarcely  audible  whisper. 

There  was  that  in  her  tone  which  filled  me  with 
terror,  although  I  did  not  then  realize  the  full 
.tragic  significance  of  the  news  she  brought. 

General  Pierson  arose  from  his  chair.  "Do  you 
mean,"  he  began,  "that  she  wants  the  child  for 
her  infernal  sacrificial  rites — that  she  intends  to 
kill  it?" 

"Yes!"  cried  the  yellow  mother,  in  Spanish. 
"They  are  to  kill  the  Calf  to-night,  and  they  want 
my  Alphonse.  Oh,  dear,  good,  kind  General 
Americano,  save  my  little  baby !  He  is  all  I  have. 
He  is  my  breath  of  life;  he  is  my  world.  If  he 
dies,  I  die.  He  is  my  heart,  my  blood  and  soul,  my 
precious  angel.  The  queen  says  you  take  the 
strangers  from  the  sea  into  your  house,  and  from 
your  house  must  come  the  blood  to  wash  the  sin 
away.  If  I  do  not  bring  him  to  the  mountain 
to-night,  they  will  come  and  get  him,  and  kill  you 
all.  Oh,  Holy  Virgin,  save  my  Alphonse!" 

"Never   mind,    Celeste.      There — there,    girl!" 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  37 

said  the  general  soothingly.  "She  shall  not  get 
your  boy.  We  will  save  him.  The  great  flag  of 
the  United  States  is  waving  over  him,  and  no 
power  on  land  or  sea  shall  take  him  away." 

Celeste,  unconvinced,  shook  her  head,  and 
pressed  the  child  closer  to  her  bosom. 

"The  queen  made  a  prophecy,"  said  Miss  Pier- 
son.  "She  predicted  that  the  strangers  who  came 
from  the  sea  to  live  in  the  consulate  would  destroy 
the  Island  of  Gabrielle.  The  blacks  are  consider 
ably  worked  up  over  it,  and  are  threatening 
trouble." 

"Yes,  they  will  come  and  kill  you  all,  and  eat 
my  Alphonse,  too;  for  the  queen  has  ordered  it 
done!"  wailed  the  negro  woman. 

"Are  they  cannibals,  too?"  I  asked,  with  a 
shudder. 

"They  are  the  lowest  of  human  beasts,  when 
they  start  on  their  orgies,"  answered  the  general. 
"But,  by  Jove,  they  must  stop  their  horrors  when 
they  reach  the  United  States  consulate."  He 
shook  his  fist  as  he  spoke,  and  the  old-time  fire  of 
battle  blazed  in  his  eyes.  "Poor  old  Spain  may 
not  be  able  to  put  a  stop  to  Voodooism,"  he  con 
tinued,  growing  more  angry  as  he  went  on,  "but 
the  United  States  will,  and  can,  draw  the  line  at 
human  sacrifice  in  her  domain.  This  spot  is 


38  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

American  soil,  and  they  who  seek  refuge  here  are 
protected  by  the  star-spangled  banner.  I'll  defend 
them  from  all  the  Yellow  Queens  and  Voodoo  doc 
tors  this  side  of  perdition,  if  I  have  to  spill  every 
drop  of  blood  in  my  veins !" 

"I  am  with  the  general  to  the  last  ditch,"  cried 
Sullivan,  arising  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table, 
and  reaching  his  hand  across  the  board. 

The  general  clasped  Larry's  hand  in  a  strong 
grip;  and,  as  they  stood  thus,  Captain  Billings 
and  I,  who  were  facing  each  other,  arose  and 
gripped  fists  across  the  table,  over  the  handclasp 
of  the  other  two. 

"Look !"  cried  Norelle,  the  fighting  blood  of  her 
father  showing  red  in  her  cheeks.  "Look!  It  is 
the  sign  of  the  cross — the  emblem  of  Christianity 
— and  the  doom  of  the  Yellow  Queen !" 


THE    DOG   MAN. 


Pag?.  39. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE  DOG-MAN'S  TEETH 

BY  DINT  of  questioning,  we  finally  learned  from 
the  frightened  woman  that  the  Yellow  Queen  was 
to  send  for  the  boy  at  the  rising  of  the  moon. 
This  would  be  about  eleven  o'clock.  Celeste  had 
every  reason  to  believe  that  her  son  was  to  be 
taken  to  a  temple  of  Voodooism  in  the  mountains, 
and  slaughtered  as  an  offering  to  the  fiendish  gods 
worshipped  by  the  savages. 

Although  she  was  a  convert  to  Christianity,  like 
many  of  the  other  negroes  on  the  island,  she 
thought  it  best  to  be  on  the  safe  side  of  the  reli 
gious  question ;  so,  she  had  attended  the  meetings 
of  the  Voodoo  doctors  and  other  high  priests  of 
the  Yellow  Queen,  which  were  held  periodically 
in  the  interior.  The  Voodoos  held  out  present 
physical  punishment,  as  well  as  future  torture, 
for  backsliders;  so,  perhaps,  it  is  not  to  be  won 
dered  at  that  the  orders  of  the  queen  were  often 

39 


40  THE    HOUSE   ON   STILTS 


more  obediently  followed  than  those  of  the  priests. 

"We  shall  have  plenty  of  time  to  prepare  for 
them,"  said  General  Pierson,  with  decision.  "And 
I'll  teach  these  people  here,  as  I  taught  those  sav 
ages  down  at  Zanzibar,  when  I  was  consul  there, 
that  it  isn't  healthy  to  monkey  with  the  Stars  and 
Stripes. 

"We'll  hoodoo  any  of  the  black  rascals  that 
show  up  around  here  to-night,"  he  continued; 
"but  I  do  not  believe  they  will  dare  make  an  open 
demand  for  the  child.  They'll  probably  sneak 
around  and  try  to  steal  him  from  his  mother.  If 
they  fail  in  that,  they'll  likely  give  it  up." 

"Yes,  they  will  come  for  my  Alphonse,"  sobbed 
the  colored  woman.  "The  Yellow  Queen  she  say, 
'Go  get  calf/  and  him  nigger  with  bark  like  dog 
and  eyes  like  fire,  him  come.  If  he  no  get  child, 
him  dog-man  come  with  thousand  niggers,  and 
house  burn.  So  say  Yellow  Queen." 

"I'll  give  your  dog-man  something  to  bark 
about,  if  he  comes  sneaking  around  here!"  cried 
the  general  angrily.  "What  would  the  immortal 
Lincoln  have  done  in  such  an  emergency?  He 
would  have  fought  to  the  last  ditch  for  that  little 
yellow  boy;  and  it  shall  never  be  said  of  Herbert 
W.  Pierson  that  his  resemblance  to  the  martyred 
President  was  a  resemblance  in  form  alone.  It's 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  41 

about  time  this  Yellow  Queen  was  taught  her  les 
son,  anyway.  I'd  hate  to  kill  any  of  the  benighted 
creatures;  but,  if  it  comes  to  the  sticking  point, 
I'll  send  a  regiment  of  them  to  Hades,  before  they 
shall  have  the  boy." 

"How  are  you  fixed  for  ammunition?"  asked 
Larry. 

"We  haven't  quite  enough  to  send  an  army  into 
action,"  replied  the  general,  "but  I  think  we  can 
scrape  together  enough  to  give  any  attacking 
party  a  real  sensation.  Now  for  action.  Norelle, 
my  dear,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  run  upstairs 
and  get  from  my  trunk  what  cartridges  you  can 
find?  I  think  there  are  a  hundred  rounds  or  so 
in  a  pasteboard  box  in  the  top  tray.  I  believe 
you'll  also  find  some  Winchester  shells." 

"We  have  some  arms,  but  are  rather  shy  on 
ammunition,"  said  Larry.  "I've  a  couple  of  guns, 
and  so  has  Jack." 

"I  have  a  revolver  that  will  do  its  share  of  exe 
cution,"  added  Captain  Billings. 

"Not  so  badly  off,  gentlemen,"  cried  the  general 
enthusiastically.  "It  might  also  be  a  good  idea 
if  the  ladies  prepared  some  lint  and  bandages.  I 
hardly  think  we  will  need  any,  but  we  must  make 
all  proper  preparations  before  going  into  battle." 

"Oh,  my  beloved  husband!"  cried  Mrs.  Pierson 


42  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

hysterically,  at  the  picture  of  carnage  which  the 
mention  of  lint  and  bandages  conjured  up  in  her 
mind's  eye.  "If  you  should  be  wounded,  or  killed, 
I  should  never  forgive  myself  for  allowing  you 
to  come  to  this  dreadful  place.  I  feel  sure  I  am 
going  to  faint." 

"If  you  faint,  you  will  make  me  lose  my  nerve," 
quickly  replied  the  general.  "And  if  I  lose  that, 
the  battle  will  go  against  us.  So,  for  the  sake  of 
Norelle — for  my  sake,  for  all  our  sakes — brace 
up,  my  dear." 

The  good  lady  braced  herself  visibly,  choked 
back  a  few  sobs,  and  released  her  frantic  clasp  on 
her  husband's  neck.  "I  will  be  brave,  for  my 
hero's  sake,"  she  cried. 

"You  are  my  heroine,"  he  declared,  kissing  her 
upon  the  forehead,  in  a  fatherly  sort  of  way.  "I 
have  a  brilliant  idea,"  he  continued  incongru 
ously.  "Norelle,  where  are  those  fireworks?" 

"In  the  east  bedroom,"  replied  the  girl,  who 
came  in  at  that  moment,  bearing  several  boxes  of 
cartridges.  "Don't  you  remember,  they  were  put 
up  there,  with  the  box  belonging  to  Doctor  Strong, 
so  they  might  be  out  of  the  way?" 

"To  be  sure,"  agreed  her  father.  "Now,  Mr. 
Smith  and  Mr.  Sullivan  will  probably  be  good 
enough  to  bring  the  box  downstairs." 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  43 

"Indeed,  we  will,"  cried  Sullivan. 

Miss  Pierson  piloted  us  upstairs  to  the  room 
wherein  the  box  was  stored.  "This  is  a  sort  of 
baggage  room  and  storehouse  combined,"  she 
explained,  as  she  threw  open  the  door  and  revealed 
an  apartment  crowded  with  a  miscellaneous 
assortment  of  boxes,  barrels,  and  packages. 

"You  see,  there  is  no  end  to  the  number  of 
things  that  are  sent  to  American  citizens  down 
here  in  care  of  the  consul,"  continued  the  young 
woman,  as  she  waved  her  hand  at  the  assortment. 
"If  a  shipper  isn't  just  sure  where  his  consignee 
is  located,  he  sends  the  goods  to  the  consulate,  and 
expects  the  consul  to  hunt  up  the  man.  It  makes 
no  difference  to  the  shipper  whether  the  customer 
is  within  one  mile  or  a  thousand  of  the  con 
sulate. 

"If  a  new  patent-medicine  concern  starts  busi 
ness,  and  desires  to  reach  out  for  foreign  trade, 
the  consul  is  the  man  expected  to  push  the  busi 
ness  along;  if  a  long-lost  child  is  sought  by  sor 
rowing  parents,  the  consul  must  find  him;  if  Bill 
Jones  comes  in  on  a  trading  ship,  spends  all  his 
money,  gets  drunk,  and  misses  his  boat,  the  consul 
is  called  upon  for  the  price  of  his  ticket  back  to 
Duluth,  Minnesota.  If  the  consul  doesn't  fill  the 
bill  in  all  these  particulars,  and  do  it  in  a  cheerful 


44  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

tone  of  voice,  charges  are  preferred  against  him 
at  the  state  department,  and  he  is  likely  to  lose  his 
job.  Oh,  I  tell  you  what,  there's  nothing  like 
being  in  the  diplomatic  service. 

"You  might  take  along  a  bottle  of  soothing 
sirup,"  continued  Miss  Pierson,  pointing  to  a  case 
marked  "Glass."  Then  she  added :  "The  box  you 
are  after  is  on  top  of  the  pile,  over  there,  to  the 
left." 

Before  we  could  reach  the  box  she  indicated, 
we  had  to  move  a  large  hardwood  case,  marked: 

DOCTOR  HOWARD  STRONG, 
Care  American  Consul,  St.  Croix,  Gabrielle. 

"You  might  fetch  that  box,  too,"  commanded 
Miss  Pierson.  "We  may  need  that,  before  the 
night  is  over." 

"It  looks  as  though  it  might  be  burglar  proof," 
I  said,  examining  its  well-made,  mortised  lid,  its 
stout  hasp,  and  patent  lock. 

"I  happen  to  have  the  key,"  said  Norelle.  "Doc 
tor  Strong  has  gone  into  the  interior  on  some 
sort  of  a  bug-hunting  expedition.  He  expected  to 
be  gone  several  months,  and,  as  he  thought  he 
might  possibly  need  something  in  the  case  during 
his  absence,  he  left  the  key  at  the  consulate.  Just 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  45 

another  one  of  the  little  duties  of  the  consul,  by 
the  way." 

"What's  in  the  box?"  I  asked. 

"Nothing  that  will  make  news,"  she  retorted 
quickly. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  I  exclaimed.  "Of  course,  it's 
none  of  my  business." 

"None  whatever,"  she  laughed;  "but  I  don't 
mind  saying  that  there  are  a  few  surgical  instru 
ments,  a  few  boxes  of  pills,  a  few  bones,  and  some 
bugs  and  beetles  on  cards.  You  may  not  know  it, 
but  Doctor  Howard  Strong  is  one  of  the  most 
famous  beetle  hunters  in  the  world.  Why,  he  has 
discovered  no  less  than  eight  new  species,  and 
every  one  of  them  bears  the  proud  title  of  'Strong- 
ibus,'  or  something  like  that,  in  the  books." 

"How  interesting!"  efcclaimed  Larry.  "I  sup 
pose  he  wears  green  goggles  and  long  hair,  and 
runs  about  with  a  net  at  the  end  of  a  long 
pole." 

"And  puts  salt  in  his  tea,  mustard  in  his  coffee, 
and  forgets  to  come  in  when  it  rains,"  I  added. 

"On  the  contrary,"  exclaimed  Miss  Pierson, 
flaring  up,  quite  unnecessarily,  I  thought;  "he  is 
very  much  of  an  up-to-date  young  man.  His  hair 
is  as  short  as  yours ;  he  does  not  wear  glasses  at 
all;  he  can  shoot  a  quarter  out  of  your  fingers  at 


46  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

fifty  paces,  is  a  mighty  good  boxer,  and  stands 
six  feet  one  inch  in  his  stockings." 

"I  beg  his  pardon,"  I  exclaimed,  and  forthwith 
decided  that  I  did  not  like  Doctor  Strong.  "He's 
altogether  too  vigorous  for  a  bug  hunter,"  I  said 
to  myself,  and  fell  to  wondering  why  she  had 
defended  him  so  warmly. 

We  carried  the  two  boxes  downstairs,  and 
found  the  general,  Billings,  and  Hollis  engaged  in 
oiling  up  the  firearms.  When  placed  in  a  row 
upon  the  table,  the  weapons  made  quite  a  formi 
dable-looking  arsenal. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  Doctor  Strong's 
case?"  asked  General  Pierson. 

"Nothing,  at  present,"  replied  his  daughter. 
"But  I  thought  we  might  make  use  of  one  or  two 
things  it  contains,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the 
worst." 

"I  think  we'll  find  a  few  negro  startlers  in 
here,"  said  the  general,  as  he  went  at  the  box  with 
a  screw-driver.  "I  decided,  before  I  came  down 
here,  that  I'd  give  the  natives  a  real,  old-fash 
ioned  American  Fourth  of  July.  When  I  was  in 
Zanzibar,  I  made  excellent  use  of  them  upon  sev 
eral  occasions." 

It  had  grown  dark,  and  as  we  all  gathered 
around  the  general  while  he  worked  at  the  box, 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  47 

we  heard  a  low  rumble,  as  of  distant  thunder, 
coming  from  the  north. 

"Hear  him  mountain!"  cried  Celeste,  who  was 
huddled  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  hugging  her 
child.  "Him  mountain  speak  for  Yellow  Queen." 

"What  mountain?"  asked  Billings. 

"Mont  Lazarre,"  replied  the  general.  "During 
certain  seasons  of  the  year,  it  becomes  semi- 
active;  and,  of  course,  this  woman,  who  is  pretty 
sharp,  presses  it  into  service  as  an  additional 
bugbear,  to  strengthen  her  hold  upon  the 
blacks." 

He  had  by  this  time  removed  the  boards  from 
the  top  of  the  box,  and  now  began  to  take  out  the 
sawdust  in  which  the  fireworks  were  packed.  "I 
hope  you  will  forgive  me,  my  dears,"  he  said  to 
his  wife  and  daughter,  "if  I  make  a  litter  upon 
the  floor.  To-morrow,  Celeste  can  sweep  it  up." 

"No  to-morrow  come  for  Celeste!"  sobbed  the 
yellow  woman,  at  mention  of  her  name. 

"Now,  see  here,  Celeste,"  cried  the  general, 
turning  on  her  sternly,  "I  want  you  to  stop  this 
blubbering  and  foolishness!  If  you  keep  up  this 
sort  of  music,  we'll  begin  to  think  we  are  in  dan 
ger,  sure  enough.  If  you  don't  dry  up,  by  golly, 
I'll  take  that  boy  of  yours  and  hand  him  over  the 
fence  to  the  first  dog-man  that  comes  after  him." 


48  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

"Oh,  general,  you  know  you  wouldn't  do  any 
thing  of  the  sort — you  know  you  would  not!" 
remonstrated  his  wife. 

"See  if  I  don't,"  snapped  the  consul,  as  he  pro 
ceeded  to  open  the  small  packages  of  fireworks 
and  lay  them  on  the  table.  "We've  got  to  have 
military  discipline  here.  I'll  just  declare  martial 
law  this  minute,  and  the  first  one  that  whimpers 
I'll  order  thrown  outside  the  breastworks  by  the 
provost  guard." 

The  sobs  in  the  corner  ceased  very  suddenly,  and 
the  general  chuckled. 

"Here  is  a  fine  lot  of  Roman  candles  for  you, 
Mr.  Smith,"  he  said,  handing  me  half  a  dozen  of 
the  familiar  tubes.  "Also  a  few  firecrackers  and 
'nigger  chasers.'  I  wonder  if  the  fellow  who 
invented  them  ever  had  an  idea  that  they'd  be 
tested  on  the  real  article?  Now,  there  are  enough 
firearms  to  go  round,  of  course,  but,  unless  it  is  a 
matter  of  life  and  death,  I  must  ask  you  not  to 
use  bullets.  We  don't  want  to  shed  human  blood, 
unless  it  is  absolutely  necessary.  We  will,  there 
fore,  see  what  persuasion  there  is  in  the  noise  and 
light  producers,  first.  Set  them  off,  therefore,  as 
accurately  as  you  can,  in  the  first  bunch  of  blacks 
that  appears  with  hostile  intent." 

"If  you  have  no  objections,  father,"  said  his 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  49 

daughter,  "I  would  like  to  secure  the  help  of  Cap 
tain  Billings  for  a  few  minutes,  before  you  take 
him  out  with  the  army  of  defense.  I  think  I  have 
a  plan  that  will  help  the  cause." 

"I  am  yours  to  command,"  said  the  captain. 

I  should  have  preferred  to  enlist  under  Miss 
Pierson's  orders;  but,  as  the  commander-in-chief 
had  mapped  out  my  work,  I  could  see  no  excuse 
for  volunteering.  Even  had  I  offered  my  services, 
the  chances  are  that  the  young  lady  would  have 
declined  them  with  fine  scorn. 

Lanterns  were  found  and  lighted;  the  shutters 
and  doors  of  the  house  were  all  securely  fastened ; 
and  Mrs.  Pierson,  Celeste,  and  her  boy  were  sent 
upstairs,  for  greater  safety. 

"As  soon  as  you  can,  you  will  join  your  mother, 
on  the  second  floor,"  said  the  general  to  Norelle. 
"Lock  yourselves  in  securely;  and,  if  you  need 
help,  fire  this  revolver  out  of  the  window.  As 
soon  as  you  can  spare  the  captain,  we  need  him 
in  the  yard.  Come  on,  now,  my  comrades ;  we  will 
see  what  measures  we  can  take  to  repel  the 
enemy." 

The  general  handed  his  daughter  one  of  the 
revolvers,  saw  the  other  women  ascend  the  stairs, 
and  then  led  us  out  into  the  darkness.  "Remem 
ber,"  he  continued,  his  voice  taking  on  an  imperi- 


50  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

ous  ring,  as  though  he  were  again  at  the  head  of 
his  old  command,  "it  is  very  important  that  we 
keep  the  sneaking  wretches  away  from  the  house. 
If  they  get  near  enough  to  touch  a  match,  they'll 
fire  it,  sure  as  fate,  for  if  there's  one  kind  of  dev 
iltry  they  like  more  than  another,  it  is  arson." 

He  led  the  way  down  the  path,  his  swinging 
lantern  causing  the  shadows  of  his  legs  to  make 
giant  strides  against  the  grove  of  palms. 

"Don't  you  think  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to 
put  out  that  light?"  asked  Larry.  "We  are  mak 
ing  the  finest  kind  of  targets,  this  very  minute." 

"There's  no  danger,"  replied  the  general.  "In 
the  first  place,  they  will  not  come  before  moonrise, 
and  that's  half  an  hour  from  now.  In  the  second, 
they'll  make  no  attack  until  after  a  formal  demand 
for  the  child. 

"There  are  two  probable  points  of  attack,"  he 
continued,  as  we  reached  the  fence  that  bounded 
the  consulate  grounds  on  the  north,  or  landward 
side.  "This  is  one  of  them.  Along  here,  you  see, 
runs  the  road  from  St.  Croix  to  the  sugar  planta 
tions,  west  of  us.  The  western  boundary  of  the 
grounds  is  pretty  well  protected  by  the  jungle. 
The  other  likely  point  for  them  to  strike  is  on  the 
eastern  side  of  the  reservation,  where  the  road 
from  Mont  Lazarre  terminates.  Of  course,  if 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  51 

they  wished,  they  could  approach  and  attack  from 
the  brush;  but  it  would  not  be  easy  going  for  a 
crowd.  Again,  they  might  attack  from  the  sea. 
The  Carib  negro,  however,  is  not  a  good  sailor, 
especially  that  variety  which  works  the  planta 
tions  and  follows  the  Yellow  Queen." 

The  general  held  his  lantern  at  arm's  length,  to 
throw  its  rays  down  the  green  aisle  which  formed 
the  road  to  St.  Croix.  Not  a  breath  of  air  stirred 
the  leaves  of  the  palms  and  the  palmettos  droop 
ing  over  the  path;  and  only  the  incessant  gleam 
of  the  fireflies,  and  the  low  hum  of  insects,  gave 
token  of  life  in  the  neighborhood. 

"We  will  leave  you  on  guard  here,  Smith,"  said 
General  Pierson,  after  we  had  surveyed  the 
approach  for  a  minute.  "Don't  use  your  revolver 
unless  you  get  into  a  tight  place,  for  we  wish  to 
avoid  international  complications,  if  possible.  If 
you  think  your  life  is  in  danger,  however,  do  not 
hesitate  for  a  minute,  but  turn  loose  any  and  all 
of  the  ammunition  you  have  about  you. 

"I'll  place  Sullivan  at  the  dangerous  eastern 
fence,  and  Hollis  at  the  west.  I'll  divide  my  own 
energies  between  the  various  places,  and  when 
the  captain  comes  from  the  house,  will  place  him 
where  he  can  be  most  useful.  I  think  that,  with 
this  disposal  of  our  forces,  we  can  give  a  good 


52  THE    HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

account  of  ourselves;  and  if  the  negroes  do  suc 
ceed  in  breaking  into  the  consulate,  they  will  know 
they  have  been  in  a  fight,  anyway." 

He  started  away  with  the  others,  then  came 
back,  to  add :  "If  they  attack  in  any  numbers,  send 
up  a  rocket  or  fire  off  your  revolver,  to  notify  us. 
Should  you  hear  a  shot  in  the  direction  of  any 
of  the  other  outposts,  follow  the  path  back  to  the 
consulate,  and  then  to  the  threatened  point,  as 
fast  as  possible,  to  lend  a  hand.  Whatever  you 
do,  don't  lose  your  nerve.  Remember,  you  are 
fighting  for  the  ladies  and  the  flag,  as  well  as  for 
that  little  black  boy  up  there.  If  they  do  attack, 
and  their  onslaught  were  to  be  successful,  you 
may  imagine  the  result." 

"For  the  flag!"  I  exclaimed  fervently,  adding, 
under  my  breath:  "And  for  Norelle." 

The  consul  and  his  companions  moved  away  in 
the  darkness,  and,  as  the  dancing  rays  of  the  lan 
tern  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  to  flash  themselves 
out,  at  last,  in  the  distant  shrubbery,  I  became 
oppressed  with  an  overpowering  sense  of  loneli 
ness.  I  seemed  to  be  in  a  vast  wilderness,  miles 
and  miles  from  human  habitation.  In  the  still 
ness,  I  could  hear  the  throbbing  of  my  own  heart, 
and  the  moments  dragged  until  they  seemed 
hours. 


THE    HOUSE   ON   STILTS  53 

As  I  waited,  and  grew  more  accustomed  to  the 
quiet  of  the  night,  I  began  to  distinguish  other 
sounds.  The  jungle  thicket  seemed  to  be  filled 
with  a  whispering  multitude.  The  beetles  and 
bugs  were  all  very  much  awake;  and  now  and 
then,  far  off  up  the  mountain  slope,  I  could  hear 
the  hoot  of  an  owl.  The  mournful  beating  of  the 
surf  on  the  ledge  at  the  entrance  of  Toro  Bay, 
where  we  had  so  nearly  ended  our  lives,  added 
weirdness  to  the  spell;  and,  in  spite  of  the 
mosquito  stings,  and  the  realization  of  the  danger 
that  threatened,  I  seemed  about  to  be  thrown  into 
a  hypnotic  trance. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  flashing  of  the  fireflies, 
which  seemed,  to  my  overwrought  imagination, 
to  be  the  red  eyes  of  Voodoo  doctors,  circling 
round  me  in  a  crazy  dance. 

Something  soft  and  velvety  struck  me  a  blow 
on  the  right  cheek. 

I  dropped  my  fireworks,  and  struck  out  blindly 
at  the  thing. 

I  tried  to  shout  for  help,  but  fear  gripped  my 
throat.  I  would  have  fainted,  I  think,  then  and 
there,  had  not  another  blow,  this  time  on  the 
forehead,  and  the  flutter  of  wings  above  my  head, 
told  me  that  my  unseen  enemy  was  a  bat. 

"A  vampire !"  I  exclaimed,  hugely  relieved,  but 


54  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

still  shuddering.  "Perhaps  it  is  as  badly  scared 
as  I  am." 

It  is  no  pleasant  job  to  stand  in  the  dark,  on 
strange  ground,  and  await  the  attack  of  an 
unknown  foe.  The  rustling  of  leaves  sounds  like 
the  low-breathed  consultations  of  hidden  conspir 
ators;  the  lapping  of  the  waves,  down  on  the 
beach,  like  the  patter  of  feet  hurrying  to  the 
attack.  An  uneasiness,  born  of  the  nervous 
strain,  takes  possession  of  you  after  a  while,  and 
you  feel  that  you  must  shout  aloud.  I  longed  to 
send  up  one  of  the  rockets  or  to  fire  off  a  Roman 
candle — to  do  anything  to  end  the  horrible 
suspense. 

An  owl  croaked  down  the  road.  The  note  was 
answered  by  a  hoot,  hollow  and  loud,  not  thirty 
feet  to  my  left.  I  felt,  rather  than  heard,  the 
presence  of  a  multitude  of  human  beings,  some 
where  beyond  the  wire  fence.  I  could  then  dis 
tinguish  the  padding  of  bare  feet  and  the  heavy 
breathing  of  a  score  of  lungs. 

"The  Yellow  Queen's  people,  at  last,"  I  said  to 
myself;  and,  as  I  became  convinced  that  I  had 
to  deal  with  tangible,  flesh-and-blood  opponents, 
much  of  that  nameless  dread,  which  had  clutched 
my  heart,  deserted  me  and  I  began  to  tingle 
with  the  eager  excitement  of  battle  whicK 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  55 

flows,  unheeded,   in  all  our  Anglo-Saxon  veins. 

A  voice  spoke  in  the  dark: 

"The  Yellow  Queen  has  sent  for  her  own.  The 
woman  in  the  house  of  the  American  will  bring 
the  child  to  the  mountain.  The  moon  is  about  to 
rise.  The  Calf  must  be  killed.  The  Blood  must 
run.  The  Spirit  of  Father  Mountain  commands." 

I  answered  the  voice : 

"Go  tell  the  Yellow  Queen  she  cannot  have  the 
boy,  for  he  is  under  the  protection  of  the  Ameri 
can  flag,  and  the  great  nation  of  the  north  will 
not  give  him  up.  If  the  Yellow  Queen  wants 
blood,  let  her  kill  a  calf  in  the  field." 

"The  Yellow  Queen  must  be  obeyed,"  said  the 
voice.  "She  will  have  the  boy,  and  those  who  try 
to  keep  him  from  her  will  be  killed.  The  island 
will  run  red  with  blood,  and  the  American  stran 
gers  will  die." 

"The  American  flag  is  striped  with  red,"  I  cried. 
"It  is  red  from  the  blood  of  those  who  have  died 
to  defend  it  and  those  who  have  died  while  trying 
in  vain,  to  tear  it  down.  Let  the  Yellow  Queen 
beware  the  fate  of  those  who  have  failed." 

"Joan  of  Lazarre  never  fails.  If  you  will  not 
give  the  boy  to  her  messengers,  she  will  send  the 
man  with  eyes  of  fire  and  bark  like  dog.  He  never 
returns  empty-handed." 


56  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

"Send  on  your  dog-man,"  J  shouted,  "and  we 
will  shoot  him  as  we  do  mad  dogs  in  the 
north." 

A  rush  of  bare  feet  upon  the  path,  a  babel  of 
strange  tongues  shouting  unintelligible  cries,  a 
clashing  of  steel  weapons,  all  warned  me  that  the 
time  for  action  had  come. 

With  nervous  haste,  I  applied  the  glowing  end 
of  my  cigar  to  three  of  the  rockets,  which  I  had 
previously  placed  horizontally  upon  the  top  of  one 
of  the  fence  posts,  and  stepped  aside  as  I  did  so, 
to  avoid  the  back  fire.  My  heart  sank  to  see  one 
of  the  three  sputtering  fuses  die  and  disappear. 
The  pattering  of  bare  feet  was  now  within  a  rod 
of  the  barrier. 

Two  hissing  streams  of  fire  leaped  from  the 
fence  to  meet  them.  As  the  rockets  sped  into  the 
darkness,  cutting  a  pathway  of  light  through  the 
tropic  foliage,  my  enemies  were  revealed. 

There  were  fifty  or  more  of  them — big,  black 
fellows,  armed  with  machetes,  old-fashioned  guns, 
and  murderous-looking  knives  with  crooked 
blades. 

One  of  the  rockets  shot  harmlessly  over  their 
heads,  and  lost  itself  in  the  tangle  of  leaves  and 
vines  beyond.  But  the  other  plowed  into  the  mid 
dle  of  the  attacking  party;  and,  as  it  struck,  a 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  57 

chorus  of  fierce  screams  awoke  the  echoes  of  the 
forest,  and  set  the  night  fowl  and  monkeys  to 
screeching  in  wild,  unearthly  chorus. 

Hastily  lighting  a  bunch  of  firecrackers,  I  threw 
them  into  the  mob  of  yelling  blacks. 

As  the  fiery  snappers  landed  in  the  midst  of  the 
throng  and  began  to  spit  flame  and  smoke,  all  the 
fight  that  was  in  them  left  the  queen's  followers. 
Many  were  hopping  up  and  down,  in  an  agony  of 
pain;  others  were  frantically  fighting  the  flames 
which  had  been  kindled  about  their  garments; 
still  others — the  majority  of  them — started  back 
along  the  pathway  to  the  village,  as  fast  as  their 
legs  would  carry  them. 

I  lit  a  Roman  candle,  and  stood  in  the  midst  of 
a  shower  of  sparks,  whirling  the  stick.  In  a 
moment,  I  realized  the  unwisdom  of  the  move,  for 
one  of  the  blacks,  less  frightened  than  the  rest, 
availed  himself  of  the  fine  mark  I  presented,  and 
aimed  his  musket  at  my  head. 

Before  he  could  pull  the  trigger,  however,  the 
first  ball  of  fire  burst  from  the  candle's  end,  and, 
by  the  sheerest  luck,  caught  him  under  the  chin. 
His  musket  went  off  in  the  air  as  he  turned  a  com 
plete  somersault,  and  when  he  picked  himself  up, 
he  ran  away,  howling  like  a  dervish. 

"Obeah,  obeah!"  cried  the  retreating  negroes. 


58  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

Five  or  six  more  balls  of  fire  from  the  Roman 
candles  followed  them,  as  they  fled  down  the  road, 
and  lit  the  pathway  for  them.  Many  of  the 
blacks  continued  to  utter  howls  of  pain  long  after 
the  patter  of  their  feet  had  died  away  in  the 
distance. 

"Obeah,  obeah,  obeah!"  came  faintly  back 
from  the  direction  of  the  village. 

General  Pierson,  Sullivan,  and  Captain  Billings 
came  running  up. 

"Where  are  the  black  rascals?"  asked  the  gen 
eral,  as  he  joined  me.  "We  heard  a  shot  down 
here,  and  came  along  as  fast  as  we  could." 

"They  seem  to  have  had  business  elsewhere,"  I 
replied. 

"What  did  they  do?  What  direction  did  they 
take?  How  many  of  them  were  there?"  asked  the 
general,  all  in  a  breath. 

"I  don't  know  where  they've  gone,"  I  said, 
lighting  a  fresh  cigar  to  steady  my  nerves. 

"But  didn't  you  see  them?"  asked  Larry. 

"Got  a  pretty  good  view  of  about  fifty  of  them, 
when  the  rockets  went  off  and  the  Roman  can 
dle  hit  'em." 

"Then  you've  had  a  battle  down  here,"  cried 
the  general,  boiling  over  with  excitement.  "Why, 


59 


you  young  scoundrel,  you  must  have  put  them  to 
rout  single-handed." 

"After  the  last  Roman  candle  ball  landed  in 
their  midst,"  I  said,  "I  don't  think  there  was  much 
fight  left  in  them.  The  firecrackers  helped  a  lit 
tle,  too."  And,  as  I  recollected  the  fire  dance  given 
by  the  poor  wretches,  I  burst  into  a  half-hysterical 
laugh. 

"By  gad,  sir,  I  congratulate  you !"  cried  General 
Pierson,  groping  for  my  hand  in  the  dark.  "You 
are  a  credit  to  the  flag,  and,  if  my  appropriation 
was  large  enough,  I'd  appoint  you  vice  consul." 

"Obeah,  obeah,  obeah!" 

As  the  general  ceased  speaking,  the  weird  cry 
of  the  negroes  sounded  again  from  the  far  depths 
of  the  woods.  The  words  were  echoed  and 
reechoed  from  the  distant  mountain;  and,  sud 
denly,  a  light,  unearthly  pale  and  green,  illumined 
our  faces.  As  I  looked  into  the  ghastly  counte 
nances  of  my  friends,  a  rattling,  as  of  dry  bones, 
disturbed  the  silence  of  the  night. 

I  turned  fearfully  around,  to  see  the  source  of 
the  strange  light,  and  beheld,  high  in  air  over  the 
tops  of  the  palms,  a  livid  skeleton,  dancing  in 
space.  It  waved  its  arms,  kicked  its  bony  legs, 
and  opened  and  shut  its  fleshless  jaws.  The  flick 
ering  light  paled  slowly,  as  we  gazed,  and,  finally, 


60  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

went  out.  But  the  rattle  of  bones  continued  in  the 
dark. 

"What  unearthly  trick  is  that?"  I  asked.  "Can 
the  Yellow  Queen  cause  skeletons  to  dance  in  the 
sky?" 

"Our  little  white  queen  can,"  replied  the  gen 
eral,  with  a  laugh.  "That,  I  think,  is  Norelle's 
vaudeville  act.  Those  anatomical  specimens  of 
Doctor  Strong  came  in  handy  to-night.  But,  come 
— let  us  return  to  the  house.  The  women  folks 
are  probably  in  a  state  of  nerves  by  this 
time." 

"By  the  way,"  I  asked,  as  we  walked  up  the 
path,  "what  does  'obeah'  mean?" 

"Most  anything  the  negroes  cannot  understand 
— witchcraft,  sorcery,  Voodooism,  for  instance," 
replied  the  general.  "When  anything  is  obeah, 
it's  charmed.  A  piece  of  good  luck  is  obeah;  so 
is  a  run  of  bad  luck.  An  automobile,  a  telephone, 
the  telegraph,  all  are  obeah  to  the  Carib  negro. 
Students  of  African  folk  lore  tell  us  that  the  word 
comes  from  obi,  which  is  the  word  for  snake  in 
several  of  the  dialects.  Obeah  is  the  most  con 
venient  word  imaginable.  It  fits  anything  and 
everything." 

"What  was  that?"  asked  Sullivan.  "I  thought 
I  heard  a  woman  scream." 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  61 

"Some  parrot  or  monkey  in  the  woods,  I  guess," 
suggested  the  general. 

We  listened  for  a  moment,  and  then  all  started 
on  a  dead  run  for  the  house ;  for  now  we  all  heard 
it — a  long,  despairing  wail.  Following  closely 
upon  the  woman's  cry  was  the  short,  sharp  bark 
of  a  large  dog. 

We  dashed  up  the  steps,  and  ran  plump  into  the 
arms  of  Captain  Billings,  who  was  about  to  leave 
the  house.  Mrs.  Pierson  was  seated  in  a  chair  in 
the  hall,  wringing  her  hands  and  sobbing  hys 
terically. 

"What's  up?"  demanded  the  general,  striding 
in.  "What  on  earth  is  the  trouble?" 

Another  deluge  of  tears  from  Mrs.  Pierson. 

"But  the  danger  is  over,"  exclaimed  the  gen 
eral.  "The  negroes  have  all  gone.  Young  Smith 
fired  a  few  rockets  and  things  into  their  faces,  and 
they  are  running  yet.  You  need  have  no  fear, 
my  dear,  that  they  will  come  back." 

"Why  should  they  come  back?"  wailed  Mrs. 
Pierson.  "They  got  what  they  came  for." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  her  husband. 

"The  child — they  got  him  right  under  our  very 
noses!"  sobbed  Mrs.  Pierson.  "But  how  they 
managed  to  do  it  is  more  than  I  can  tell.  They 
are  now  taking  him  up  to  the  mountain,  to  kill 


62  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

him.  Oh,  why  did  we  ever,  ever  come  to  this 
horrible  island?" 

"There,  there !"  soothed  the  general,  advancing 
and  placing  his  arm  about  her.  "The  boy  isn't 
dead  yet — not  by  a  long  sight.  Where  is 
Celeste?" 

"Upstairs,  where  you  told  her  to  go,"  replied 
Mrs.  Pierson,  a  little  more  calmly.  "This  is  the 
way  it  happened,  so  far  as  we  know:  She  had 
locked  herself  up  in  the  back  room  with  the  boy. 
I  was  in  the  next  room,  and  Norelle  and  the  cap 
tain  were  on  the  roof,  fixing  up  the  skeleton. 
Then  Celeste  screamed,  and,  with  the  scream,  I 
distinctly  heard  the  barking  of  a  large  dog, 
although  I  am  positive  no  animal  could  have 
gained  entrance  to  the  room.  I  called  to  Celeste 
to  admit  me,  but  she  did  not  answer.  When  the 
captain  came  downstairs,  I  got  him  to  break  into 
the  room,  and  found  Celeste  on  the  floor  in  a  faint, 
and  the  boy  missing." 

"The  outside  window  of  that  room  is  twenty 
feet  from  the  ground,"  exclaimed  General  Pier- 
son.  "That  beats  me.  Let  us  see  the  woman." 
He  led  the  way  upstairs,  and  we  followed. 

The  colored  woman  was  still  prostrate  upon  the 
floor,  but  had  recovered  from  her  faint,  and  was 
weeping  convulsively. 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  63 

"What's  the  matter,  Celeste?"  demanded  the 
general. 

"My  Alphonse  is  gone!"  cried  the  woman. 

"Who  took  him?" 

"Him  nigger  with  eyes  of  fire  and  bark  like 
dog." 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  cried  General  Pierson  impa 
tiently.  "There  hasn't  a  soul  entered  this  place 
since  we  left  it.  Your  youngster  is  larking  about 
the  house  somewhere.  You've  just  gone  to  sleep 
and  dreamed  that  he  was  stolen." 

"Did  Celeste  dream  that  dog-man  bite  her  arm, 
like  this,  when  she  held  Alphonse  from  him?" 
As  she  spoke,  she  bared  her  right  arm  to  the 
shoulder. 

"Her  arm  is  bleeding!"  cried  Larry. 

There  was  a  lacerated  wound,  fully  three  inches 
long,  in  the  brown  flesh  above  the  elbow. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN  VOODOOLAND 

DILIGENT  search  of  the  house  and  grounds  failed 
to  reveal  any  trace  of  the  missing  child.  The 
broken  leaves  of  a  huge  vine,  growing  up  the  side 
of  the  house  and  past  the  window  of  the  room 
from  which  the  boy  was  abducted,  offered  a  very 
plausible  explanation  of  the  dog  man's  entry  and 
exit. 

Larry  Sullivan  solved  the  riddle.  Standing 
beneath  the  window,  he  grasped  the  vine,  and 
climbed  hand  over  hand  to  the  sill,  to  prove  the 
strength  of  the  ladder  used  by  the  queen's  uncanny 
messenger. 

"If  there's  nothing  more  spooky  about  the  boy's 
disappearance  than  that,"  exclaimed  Larry,  "I'm 
willing  to  try  to  get  him  back.  All  we've  got  to 
do  is  to  follow  the  negroes  to  the  meeting  place, 
and  take  him." 

"And  be  murdered  and  offered  up  as  a  sacrifice, 
for  your  pains,"  cried  Miss  Pierson. 

64 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  65 

"It  would  be  almost  certain  death,"  said  the 
general. 

"Oh,  save  my  Alphonse,  my  precious  Alphonse!" 
cried  Celeste,  who  had  been  wandering,  weeping, 
around  the  grounds. 

"It  does  seem  a  shame  to  have  the  little  rascal 
chopped  up  and  eaten  by  those  heathens,"  con 
tinued  Sullivan,  "and  I'm  convinced  we  could  save 
him,  if  we  started  early  enough.  How  far  is  it  to 
the  place  where  you  black  devils  meet?"  he 
demanded,  turning  to  Celeste. 

"Six — seven  miles,"  replied  the  woman.  "I  take 
you.  I  know  way.  But  you  need  big,  whole  army, 
or  Yellow  Queen  kill  you  sure." 

"All  we  need  is  a  little  nerve,  some  giant  pow 
der,  and  two  or  three  short  pieces  of  gas  pipe," 
said  Larry  briskly,  his  mind  evidently  made  up. 

"Oh,  you  surely  are  not  thinking  seriously  of 
going?"  cried  Mrs.  Pierson. 

"I  sure  am  thinking  of  it,"  exclaimed  Larry. 
"I  suppose  we'll  have  to  move  quick,  won't  we? 
What  time  do  they  usually  kill  off  their — their 
calves?" 

"When  the  moon  is  right — so — up,"  explained 
Celeste,  pointing  to  the  zenith. 

"Then  we've  got  about  three  hours,  I  judge," 
said  Sullivan.  Turning  to  the  general,  he  asked : 


66 


"Is  there  any  dynamite  or  blasting  powder  within 
easy  reach?  I'd  like  to  play  anarchist  to-night, 
but  can't,  unless  I  have  some  bombs." 

"Not  a  grain  this  side  of  St.  Croix,  and  the 
stores  there  are,  of  course,  closed  at  this  time  of 
night,"  replied  the  general. 

"How  would  some  nitroglycerine  do?"  asked 
Miss  Pierson. 

"Fine,  if  we  could  get  it/'  replied  Larry,  with 
enthusiasm. 

"I  think  I  can  find  about  a  dozen  cans,"  said  the 
girl. 

"If  you  mean  that  which  belonged  to  the  Del 
Oro  Company,"  said  the  general,  "that  was  all 
thrown  into  the  sea." 

"Yes,"  assented  Norelle.  "It  was  dropped  into 
the  sea,  but  I  took  the  precaution  of  tying  a  string 
to  it,  and  think  it  can  be  fished  out  without  the 
least  bit  of  danger.  I  thought  it  might  come  in 
handy  some  time." 

"I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  eloquent  eyes 
of  young  Herbert  had  something  to  do  with  your 
saving  that  stuff,"  bantered  the  general.  "How 
ever,  I'm  right  glad  you  saved  it." 

Miss  Pierson  led  the  way  down  to  the  beach,  to 
a  point  where  the  explosives  had  been  submerged. 
Larry,  the  general,  and  I  followed  in  her  footsteps. 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  67 

"You  see,"  explained  the  general,  as  we  pro 
ceeded  down  the  shadowy  pathway,  "that  nitro 
glycerine  was  sent  here  by  Charlie  Herbert,  man 
ager  of  the  Del  Oro  Mining  Company,  which,  you 
may  remember,  went  up  the  financial  spout  a  lit 
tle  while  ago." 

"Of  course,  there  is  no  gold  in  Gabrielle,"  I  ven 
tured.  "The  island,  being  of  volcanic  origin, 
probably  has  no  gold-bearing  quartz." 

"Wrong — like  a  great  many  other  eminent 
authorities,"  said  the  general.  "Whether  it  is 
quartz  of  the  right  kind  or  not,  the  Del  Oro  peo 
ple  struck  a  mother  lode  of  marvelous  richness. 
Ore  assaying  three  thousand  dollars  to  the  ton 
was  taken  out,  and  there  was,  apparently,  no  end 
to  the  deposit.  Herbert  and  his  backers  had 
every  prospect  of  becoming  millionaires  within  a 
few  months,  and  were  going  ahead  swimmingly, 
when  they  had  to  quit." 

"Who  made  them  quit?" 

"The  Yellow  Queen.  She  sent  Herbert  and  his 
men  back  to  the  States  on  the  double-quick.  It 
was  go  home  or  die,  with  them;  so  they  went 
home." 

"But  why  did  she  object  to  their  mining 
operations  ?" 

"She  was  wise  enough  to  know  that,  if  it  became 


68  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

noised  about  the  world  that  gold  was  here,  the 
whites  would  flock  to  Gabrielle  by  the  thousands. 
It  would  be  another  Klondike.  Voodooism  would 
be  wiped  out,  and  the  reign  of  the  Yellow  Queen 
would  be  at  an  end.  Voodooism  doesn't  flourish 
in  a  white  man's  country.  It  needs  the  super 
stitious  soil  of  a  black  man's  brain  to  grow  upon." 

By  this  time,  we  had  reached  a  point  upon  the 
beach  some  two  hundred  yards  east  of  the  reef 
where  our  small  boat  had  come  to  disaster.  The 
sea  was  like  a  mirror,  and  the  rising  moon,  now 
lifted  well  above  the  edge  of  the  Caribbean,  shone 
so  brightly  on  the  pebbles  and  shells  that  you  could 
have  counted  them  one  by  one. 

Miss  Pierson  proceeded  to  a  spot  where  a  ven 
erable  palm,  bent  with  the  weight  of  years,  leaned, 
at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  over  the  surface 
of  the  water.  Before  we  reached  the  tree  we 
could  see  a  line  stretching  from  the  trunk  out 
into  the  bay.  Norelle  laid  hold  of  the  line,  and 
begaji  hauling  it  in,  hand  over  hand. 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  exclaimed  Sullivan,  taking 
the  rope  from  her  hands  rather  unceremoniously, 
"I'll  just  take  charge  of  this  fish  myself.  I  don't 
like  the  way  you  are  jerking  it  in.  If  it  should 
strike  a  stone,  at  the  rate  you  were  hauling  it, 
there'd  be  an  explosion  and  a  tidal  wave  that 


THE   HOUSE  ON  STILTS  69 

would  swamp  the  consulate;  and  our  little  crowd 
here  would  be  up  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Milky 
Way." 

Sullivan  brought  the  cans  to  shore  in  a  gingerly 
manner,  selected  one  from  the  bag  which  held 
them,  and  laid  it  carefully  upon  the  sand.  Then 
he  replaced  the  others  in  the  bag,  and,  wading  out 
into  the  water,  sunk  the  death-dealing  canisters 
from  view. 

"It  won't  take  ten  minutes  to  prepare  our  little 
torpedoes,"  he  said,  as  we  hurried  back  toward 
the  house.  "And  another  thing  we  need,"  he 
added,  "is  some  make-up." 

"What  do  you  want  make-up  for?"  asked  the 
general. 

"I'm  going  to  do  a  black-face  turn.  What  do 
you  think  of  me  as  a  successor  to  the  late  lamented 
Haverley?  To  do  the  act  right,  I'll  have  to  organ 
ize  a  troupe.  Jack,  are  you  going  to  take  part  in 
the  opening  performance?" 

"I  received  orders  to  follow  you  wherever  you 
went,"  I  replied;  "so  start  the  show,  Mr.  Inter 
locutor." 

"Of  course  you'll  have  to  black  up,  if  you  go 
after  that  poor  little  boy,"  said  Norelle.  "How 
stupid  of  me  not  to  think  of  that  at  first !" 

"I  suppose  a  white  man  wouldn't  get  very  far 


70  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

in  the  direction  of  that  Voodoo  show,"  said  Gen 
eral  Pierson.  "I  only  pray  they  will  not  detect 
your  masquerade.  Boys,  take  my  advice  and  give 
up  this  theatrical  affair;  for  that  is  what  it  is, 
pure  and  simple.  It  sounds  heroic,  and  all  that, 
to  try  to  rescue  that  child  from  the  hands  of  its 
savage  executioners ;  but  you'll  find  that  planning 
the  expedition,  and  going  through  with  it  success 
fully,  are  altogether  different  propositions.  The 
chances  are  ten  to  one  that  you'll  be  killed  in  the 
attempt,  and  you  haven't  one  chance  in  one  hun 
dred  of  getting  the  boy  back  alive." 

"I'll  take  that  chance,"  protested  Larry  warmly. 
"Sure,  I'd  never  be  able  to  sleep  soundly  again  if 
I  didn't.  Every  time  I  waked  up  in  the  night,  I'd 
see  that  kid's  face  and  hear  his  mother's  cry." 

"That's  the  way  I  like  to  hear  a  man  talk,"  cried 
Norelle.  "I  only  wish  I  wore  trousers.  If  I  did, 
I'd  go  with  you." 

"Well,  I'm  wearing  a  pair  that's  going  to  fol 
low  Sullivan,"  I  cried,  fired  with  enthusiasm. 
With  her  eyes  upon  me,  I  felt  that  I  could  over 
come  all  the  Voodoos  in  the  tropics. 

"That's  the  way  I  feel  about  it,  too,"  said  Cap 
tain  Billings,  who  was  waiting  for  us  at  the  foot 
of  the  steps.  "I'm  anxious  to  go,  and  if  it  is 
necessary,  I'd  just  as  soon  kill  a  dozen  Yellow 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  71 

Queens,  before  I'd  let  them  cut  up  that  child  and 
make  soup  of  his  bones." 

"I  think  it  will  be  wiser  for  some  of  the  party 
to  remain  here  to  guard  the  consulate,"  said  Sul 
livan.  "If  Smith  and  I  can't  do  it,  a  dozen  would 
fail.  If  we  went  in  force,  we  would  probably 
attract  attention,  and  would  be  almost  certain  to 
spoil  the  whole  thing.  No  matter  how  many  of 
our  party  we  took  along,  we  could  not  gather 
enough  to  overcome  the  mob  we  will  find  on 
the  mountain.  We  must  work  the  affair  as 
a  surprise,  and  get  away  before  they  wake 
up." 

"There's  a  good  deal  of  sense  in  that  argument," 
observed  the  general.  "If  Mr.  Sullivan  is  deter 
mined  to  undertake  the  perilous  expedition,  it  is 
better  that  he  go  about  it  in  the  manner  that  suits 
him  best.  The  captain,  Mr.  Hollis,  and  I  will 
remain  and  act  as  the  defenders  of  the  home  and 
the  flag." 

Mrs.  Pierson  and  the  sobbing  Celeste  entered 
the  hall  as  we  were  speaking. 

"Oh,  do  not  leave  us !"  cried  Mrs.  Pierson  trag 
ically.  "You  have  defended  us  so  nobly  till  now; 
please  do  not  leave  us  to  the  mercy  of  the 
savages." 

"I  am  still  here,  Mrs.  Pierson,"  cried  the  gen- 


72  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

eral,  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and 
folding  his  arms. 

"Of  course,  dear,  you  are  always  my  very  brav 
est  soldier,"  his  wife  hastened  to  say,  while 
Norelle  and  the  rest  of  us  laughed,  in  spite  of  the 
gravity  of  the  situation.  "But  you  know,"  she 
continued,  "in  union  there  is  strength,  and  we 
need  all  the  strength  we  can  get  just  now.  There 
is  no  telling  how  soon  those  dreadful  negroes 
will  come  back  again." 

"There  isn't  much  danger  of  their  coming 
this  night,"  said  General  Pierson.  "They  have 
their  ceremony  on  the  mountain  to  pull  off,  and, 
after  that  is  over,  they'll  not  be  in  a  condition  to 
do  much  of  anything." 

"Why  not?"  I  asked. 

"They'll  all  be  drunk.  These  Voodoo  soirees 
usually  wind  up  in  a  free-for-all  debauch.  They'll 
consume  enough  alcohol  and  rum  to  float  the  State 
of  Missouri,  between  now  and  sun-up." 

Larry,  in  the  meantime,  had  adjourned  to  the 
kitchen,  where  we  could  see  him  bending  over 
the  table,  his  head  in  very  close  proximity  to  the 
deadly  canister  of  nitroglycerine. 

"Any  danger  of  that  stuff  going  off,  out  there?" 
asked  General  Pierson.  "Perhaps  we  had  better 
all  adjourn  to  the  garden." 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  73 

"None  in  the  world,  for  I've  got  it  all  safely 
dampened,  except  a  little  bit  I'm  saving  for  my 
detonator,"  replied  Sullivan.  "Don't  worry  about 
this  part  of  the  job,  for  I've  made  bombs  before. 
Jack,  while  you  are  about  it,  why  don't  you  hunt 
up  some  stuff  for  your  make-up,  and  put  it  on?" 

"I'll  make  him  up — if  he'll  let  me,"  volunteered 
Norelle. 

"Will  I?  Well,  I  guess  I  will,"  I  hastened  to 
say,  and  was  tempted  to  add  that  nothing  would 
give  me  more  pleasure  than  to  have  her  make 
me  up  daily  through  life. 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  she  had 
found  three  or  four  corks,  had  burned  them  over 
a  candle,  had  scraped  off  the  charcoal  thus  formed, 
and  had  mixed  it  with  some  cold  cream,  to  form 
a  paste.  The  result,  when  applied  to  my  counte 
nance,  was  certainly  a  pronounced  success,  if 
lustre  and  blackness  counted  at  all.  I  do  not 
think  the  Island  of  Gabrielle  ever  harbored  quite 
as  black  a  man  as  I  was,  when  Miss  Pierson  fin 
ished  her  task.  Then  Sullivan's  face  received 
similar  treatment,  and  we  were  ready  to  sally 
forth. 

"Your  hands  look  pretty  white,  Mr.  Sullivan," 
said  Norelle.  "Don't  you  think  you'd  better  have 
them  treated,  too?" 


74  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

"No;  but  if  you  have  any  of  your  father's  old 
gloves  lying  around,  we'll  borrow  them,"  said 
Larry. 

The  girl  knew  exactly  where  to  find  the  articles 
required,  and  soon  we  had  each  donned  a  pair. 

"All  aboard  for  Voodooland!"  cried  Sullivan. 
"Come  on,  now,  you,  whatever  your  name  is. 
Stop  crying,  and  step  lively."  This  to  Celeste, 
who  was  whimpering  at  the  door. 

"Fse  ready,"  sobbed  the  woman.  "But  I'se 
ready  to  die,  too.  The  Yellow  Queen  she  get  us 
all.  But  I  no  want  live  if  my  Alphonse  die." 

"Well,  it's  a  sure  thing  he'll  be  killed,  unless 
you  hurry  mighty  fast,"  exclaimed  Sullivan. 
"We've  got  to  beat  that  moon  to  the  top  of  the 
mountain." 

"Shake  hands  all  around  before  you  go,"  said 
the  general,  his  voice  trembling  a  little.  "Remem 
ber  that  we  Americans  are  few  and  far  between 
down  here  in  Gabrielle.  God  grant  that  the 
number  be  not  diminished  this  night." 

"Have  no  fears  for  us,"  replied  Larry  cheer 
fully,  gripping  hands  with  the  consul,  and  then 
with  Mrs.  Pierson  and  Norelle.  "We'll  do  our 
best,  and  if  we  don't  bring  back  the  boy,  we'll 
have  a  mighty  good  excuse." 

"We  will  pray  for  you,"  said  Mrs.  Pierson.    "I 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  75 

think  you  are  both  brave  and  grand  to  do  it." 
She  curtsied  over  my  hand,  and  I  bowed  low  over 
hers. 

"This  reminds  me  of  the  good  old  days  of  the 
Revolution,  the  minuet,  and  the  snuffbox,"  said 
Norelle,  with  a  laugh.  "Really,  Mr.  Smith  should 
have  lived  in  our  great-grandfathers'  time.  He 
would  have  made  a  splendid  dancing  mas 
ter." 

"This  is  no  time  for  levity,  my  child,"  reproved 
Mrs.  Pierson.  "Do  you  realize,  Norelle,  that  these 
two  brave  young  men  are  starting  upon  a  noble, 
self-sacrificing  mission,  which  may  lead  them  to 
their  death?" 

"Indeed,  I  do,"  replied  the  girl.  "They  will 
forgive  me,  I  hope,  for  appearing  to  make  light 
of  the  expedition.  But  they  know  that  smiles 
are  often  mere  cheerful  masks,  to  hide  the  tears 
we  want  to  shed." 

She  placed  her  hand  in  mine  as  she  spoke  j 
and,  looking  into  her  eyes,  I  could  see  that  her 
tears  were  perilously  near  the  brink. 

"The  moon  is  climbing  mighty  fast,"  urged 
Sullivan;  and  I  realized  that  I  was  holding  No- 
relle's  hand  longer  than  the  occasion  warranted. 
So,  reluctantly,  I  released  it,  and  mumbling  some 
thing  about  "duty  to  humanity,"  which  sounded 


76  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

very  flat,  hurried  out  of  the  door.  Celeste  walked 
between  us. 

Just  before  leaving  the  consulate  grounds, 
Larry  paused,  and  handed  me  two  cylindrical 
objects,  which  might  have  weighed  a  couple  of 
pounds  apiece. 

"Take  this  junk,"  he  said,  "and  be  mighty 
darned  careful  with  it.  If  you  drop  either  one 
of  them,  you  are  a  dead  man,  and  we  will  follow 
you  into  the  beyond." 

"But  what  shall  I  do  with  them?"  I  asked, 
nervously  clutching  the  bombs,  my  hair  fairly 
standing  on  end  at  the  thought  of  letting  them 
fall. 

"When  we  get  ready  for  our  part  of  the  show, 
fire  them  against  a  rock,  or  a  tree,  or  a  negro's 
head — against  anything  hard.  They  will  do  the 
rest.  I  have  a  couple  more  just  like  yours;  and 
with  four  first-class  blow-ups  at  our  command 
we  ought  to  make  things  interesting  for  our 
friends  in  Voodooville." 

As  we  hurried  along  the  lane  of  palms  and 
reached  the  rising  ground  of  the  foothills,  Larry 
chuckled  aloud. 

"Seems  to  me  this  is  pretty  serious  business," 
I  said.  "I,  for  one,  do  not  see  anything  to  laugh 
about." 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  77 

"I  was  just  thinking  how  near  Voodooville  is 
like  vaudeville,"  he  said.  "I  wonder  if  you  couldn't 
work  that  into  a  sketch  for  stage  use — the  Voo 
doos  of  Vaudeville — or  something  of  the  sort." 

"I  don't  feel  a  bit  like  writing  stage  stuff  now," 
I  retorted.  "But,  s-sh!  Here  comes  a  crowd  of 
blacks." 

As  I  spoke,  a  dozen  negro  men  and  women 
stalked  silently  out  of  a  side  path,  and  turned 
northward,  in  the  direction  of  the  smoking  moun 
tain.  At  first,  they  walked  fifty  yards  or  so  ahead 
of  us,  and  four  abreast;  but  as  the  pathway 
narrowed  and  steepened,  they  strung  out  in 
Indian  file.  Soon  we  three  were  compelled  to 
follow  their  example,  and  Sullivan  took  the  lead, 
Celeste  followed,  and  I  brought  up  the  rear. 

Before  we  had  proceeded  far,  we  heard  a  shuf 
fling  of  feet  behind,  and,  looking  back,  saw  a 
troupe  of  shadowy  forms  following  in  our  wake. 

The  traveling  soon  became  more  difficult,  for 
the  pathway  resolved  itself  into  the  crudest  kind 
of  a  trail,  and  jagged  rocks,  fallen  trees,  and 
and  trailing,  twisting  vines  opposed  our  progress. 
The  sky,  which  earlier  in  the  evening  had  been 
ablaze  with  lunar  and  stellar  light,  became  over 
cast  with  scudding  clouds,  and  the  wind  came  in 
from  the  sea,  to  sob  hysterically  in  the  treetops. 


78  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

A  flaming  light  burst  above  us;  then  another, 
and  another.  Instinctively,  I  gripped  the  handles 
of  my  revolvers,  but,  in  another  moment,  dropped 
them,  when  I  saw  that  the  lights  were  only  torches 
lit  by  those  ahead  to  guide  them  on  their  upward 
way.  In  a  few  minutes,  I  counted  eight  lights 
above  us;  and,  looking  backward  and  downward, 
was  amazed  to  see  twice  that  number  in  our 
rear. 

The  torches  revealed  a  procession  of  blacks, 
which  wound  and  twisted  its  way  down  the  hill 
for  a  mile,  until  the  flickering  lights  grew  as  small 
as  the  restless  lamps  of  the  fireflies.  Where  they 
all  came  from,  and  when  they  had  joined  us, 
were  equal  mysteries ;  but  there  they  came,  toiling, 
sweating,  panting  up  the  long  hill,  to  join  in  the 
ghastly  ceremony  of  murdering  a  child.  Shadowy 
and  unreal  they  looked,  like  a  procession  of  black 
demons  from  the  pit ;  but  every  torch  flare  caught 
the  glister  of  steel,  to  tell  us  that  the  followers  of 
the  Yellow  Queen  came  armed. 

"Papaloi  and  Mamanloi  go  to  the  mountain; 
White  calf's  blood  run  like  a  fountain." 

A  huge  negro  torchbearer,  only  a  few  feet 
ahead  of  us,  burst  into  this  piece  of  doggerel,  his 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  79 

heavy  tones  sounding  hollow  and  sepulchral  as 
they  reverberated  through  the  wooded  aisles.  In 
a  moment,  a  hundred  voices  took  up  the  refrain, 
and  repeated  it  over  and  over  again.  After  a  time, 
when  the  weird  choir  had,  apparently,  wearied 
of  the  first  verse,  the  leading  voice  added  two 
more  couplets,  which  ran,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recol 
lect,  like  this: 

"Yelloiv  Queen  she  sit  up  on  her  throne, 
And  call  all  niggers  what  she  own. 

We're  comiri  and  dimbiri  because  you  call; 
We're  yours,  feet  and  hands  and  all." 

The  singers  seemed  to  forget  the  toilsome  climb, 
as  they  shouted  the  verses  louder  and  louder. 
Some  of  them  sang  well  in  unison,  while  others 
paid  little  attention  to.  what  their  fellows  were 
chanting,  but  repeated  the  words  to  tunes  of  their 
own  making. 

Celeste  joined  in  the  singing,  with  a  shrill, 
piping  voice ;  and  I  believe  that,  for  the  time  being, 
she  even  forgot  the  peril  of  her  child.  Many  of 
the  marchers  had  bottles,  from  which  they  drank, 
and,  by  the  time  we  reached  the  end  of  the 
journey  fully  half  of  them  were  drunk. 


80  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

"I'm  glad  to  see  'em  warm  up,"  said  Larry, 
over  his  shoulder;  "for,  the  drunker  they  are, 
the  easier  it  is  going  to  be  for  us." 

We  finally  reached  a  table-land,  or  shoulder 
of  the  mountain,  five  or  six  acres  in  extent,  and 
almost  denuded  of  trees.  Here  and  there,  charred 
upright  trunks  served  to  show  where  once  a 
forest  had  stood,  and  in  the  centre  of  this  group 
of  gaunt  skeletons  rose  a  flat  rock. 

This  stone  was  about  thirty  feet  square,  and 
its  level  top  stood  possibly  ten  feet  from  the 
ground.  A  flaming  torch,  planted  at  each  corner 
of  the  rock,  would  have  revealed  plainly  the  actors 
on  the  stage,  even  without  the  assistance  of  a 
larger  green  flame,  which  blazed  behind  a  man 
and  two  women  standing  near  the  centre.  A 
crowd  of  at  least  three  hundred  negroes,  of  both 
sexes,  was  massed  around  the  rock,  absorbed 
in  the  ceremony,  which  had  evidently  just 
begun. 

Our  arrival  with  the  other  blacks  attracted  no 
attention ;  and,  as  we  pressed  forward  to  get  with 
in  earshot  of  the  altar,  the  mob  broke  into  a  chant, 
half  French,  half  Spanish.  The  actors  on  the 
stage  were  waving  their  arms,  and  the  man  occa 
sionally  pounded  a  kettle-drum. 

"Look!"   whispered    Celeste,   pointing  toward 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  81 

the  platform.  "Yellow  Queen  in  middle.  In 
minute  she  see  us  and  kill  us  dead." 

"Shut  your  mouth,  if  you  ever  want  to  see  your 
boy  again,"  hissed  Larry;  and  Celeste  subsided. 
Her  face  looked  chalky  with  fear  in  the  green 
light. 

The  queen  stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  rock, 
and  waved  her  hands  for  silence. 

"Bad  men  have  come  to  Gabrielle,"  she  cried, 
in  Spanish,  and  in  a  loud,  but  not  unmusical, 
voice.  "If  they  live,  Father  Mountain  will  kill 
all  his  children.  He  has  told  his  daughter  that 
these  white  men  must  die.  Their  blood  must 
go  into  the  ground,  to  make  the  cane  grow  and  the 
bananas  ripen.  If  Father  Mountain  is  not  given 
this  blood,  he  will  spit  out  fire  and  ashes,  and 
Gabrielle  will  be  burned  like  a  stick  in  the  flames." 

She  paused,  and  the  mob  chanted  again,  louder 
than  before. 

We  moved  closer,  and  managed  to  gain  a  point 
within  ten  yards  of  the  stage. 

The  Yellow  Queen  was,  to  my  surprise,  a  woman 
of  considerable  beauty.  She  was  a  very  light 
mulatto,  taller  than  most  of  her  Carib  sisters, 
not  more  than  thirty,  I  should  judge,  and  graceful 
and  shapely  of  form.  She  was  dressed  in  a  many- 
colored  skirt,  and  wore  about  her  a  strange  assort- 


82  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

ment  of  decorations.  These  seemed  to  consist, 
for  the  most  part,  of  tufts  of  feathers,  beads, 
bones,  and  pieces  of  glass.  In  one  hand  she  held 
a  small  snake  and  in  the  other  a  toad. 

Her  companions  upon  the  platform  were  both 
aged  negroes — a  man  and  a  woman — whose  rags 
revealed  rather  than  concealed  their  bones  and 
parchment  skin.  Their  function  during  the 
ceremony  seemed  to  be  to  keep  the  torches  alight ; 
for  at  intervals  they  dropped  into  the  flames 
something  which  caused  them  to  flare  upward, 
and,  at  times,  to  change  color.  The  man  frequent 
ly  turned  his  attention  to  the  ancient  drum,  and 
beat  it  vigorously. 

"Bring  forth  the  white  cock  and  the  white 
goat,"  cried  the  queen.  "Let  Papaloi  and  Maman- 
loi  spill  their  blood  as  an  offering  to  angry  Father 
Mountain." 

There  was  a  struggle  and  a  flutter  in  the  crowd 
before  the  platform,  and  almost  immediately  a 
white  goat  and  a  white  rooster  were  brought  into 
view.  The  old  man  took  charge  of  the  goat,  and 
the  woman  of  the  fowl,  and  each  produced  a  knife 
for  the  execution. 

"If  Father  Mountain  has  enough  blood,  he  will 
sleep  on,"  cried  the  Yellow  Queen,  pointing  dra 
matically  toward  the  plume  of  smoke  which  floated 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  8a 

lazily  from  the  funnel  of  the  slumbering  volcano. 

"But  if  he  wants  more  he  will  say  so.  Papaloi 
and  Mamanloi,  give  us  the  blood." 

She  uttered  a  shrill  cry  at  the  conclusion  of 
her  speech,  and  the  knives  held  by  the  old  man 
and  woman  were  buried  simultaneously  in  the 
breasts  of  the  struggling  victims.  The  blood 
gushed  from  the  wounds,  and  the  goat  bleated 
piteously  in  its  death  agony.  The  old  priest  and 
priestess  executed  a  hideous  dance  around  the 
platform. 

"The  God  of  the  Mountain  speaks !  Hear  him ! 
Hear  him!"  screamed  the  Yellow  Queen. 

As  if  in  obedience  to  her  command,  there  was 
a  low  rumble  in  the  bowels  of  the  volcano,  and  the 
base  of  the  smoke  plume  at  its  summit  glowed 
fiery  red. 

"He  must  have  more  blood — more  blood!" 
shrieked  the  queen.  "He  is  still  angry  with  his 
children." 

As  another  and  louder  reverberation  came  from 
the  roots  of  the  mountain,  scores  of  the  blacks 
in  the  crowd  began  to  sob  wildly,  while  many 
threw  themselves  upon  their  faces. 

"More  blood!"  screamed  the  queen.  "Whose 
shall  it  be?" 

"The  blood  of  the  White  Calf,"  responded  Papa- 


84  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

loi  and  Mamanloi,  gesticulating  and  bending  their 
bodies  in  strange  contortions. 

"Where  is  the  White  Calf?"  cried  the  mistress 
of  ceremonies. 

"He  is  waiting  for  the  knife,"  shrieked  the 
old  woman. 

"Then  bring  him  forth,"  cried  the  Yellow 
Queen,  tossing  the  snake  and  toad  upon  the  rock. 
"Father  Mountain  shall  have  all  the  blood  he 
wants." 

A  hideous,  misshapen  creature  leaped  upon  the 
platform. 

"The  dog-man !"  gasped  Celeste,  and  fell,  faint 
ing,  to  the  ground. 

"He  does  look  more  like  dog  than  man,"  ex 
claimed  Sullivan.  "I  don't  blame  the  woman  for 
throwing  a  fit." 

The  creature  upon  the  platform  was  hairy, 
apelike,  and  absolutely  devoid  of  clothing.  His 
legs  were  short,  his  arms  long,  his  skull  flattened ; 
and,  through  the  long  gash  which  served  him  as 
mouth,  two  tusks  protruded  from  the  lower  jaw. 
After  he  had  executed  a  sort  of  jig  to  the  beats 
of  the  drum,  the  monster  leaned  over  the  edge  of 
the  platform,  and  dragged  up  the  form  of  Celeste's 
boy,  Alphonse. 

The  child  was  evidently  exhausted  from  the 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  85 

long  climb  up  the  mountain  and  from  fright,  and 
could  scarcely  stand  alone. 

"Bring  me  the  sacred  knife,"  cried  the  queen, 
as  she  surveyed  the  child.  "Where  is  the  knife 
that  was  sent  us  by  the  God  of  the  Mountain?" 

"It  is  coming — it  is  coming,"  shrieked  the  old 
man. 

"Yes,  and  trouble  is  coming,"  muttered  Larry, 
drawing  one  of  the  bombs  from  his  pocket. 

"You'll  kill  the  child,  if  you  throw  it  up  there," 
I  exclaimed,  imitating  his  action,  and  producing 
one  of  the  nitroglycerine  missiles  from  my  pocket. 

"I'm  not  going  to  throw  it  on  the  stage,"  re 
plied  Larry.  "I  am  going  to  try  to  hit  that  tree 
over  there,  at  the  left  of  the  rock.  There's  a  ledge 
of  rock  behind  it;  and,  if  we  miss  the  tree,  the 
bomb  will  be  certain  to  go  off,  anyway." 

"Here  is  the  sacred  knife !"  screamed  the  queen, 
brandishing  a  wicked-looking  blade,  which  was 
handed  to  her  from  below.  She  approached  the 
spot  where  Alphonse  was  held  in  the  hairy  arms 
of  the  dog-man. 

"This  blood  is  for  you,  Father  Mountain,"  be 
gan  the  Yellow  Queen,  as  she  lifted  the  knife 
above  her  head. 

She  did  not  finish  the  sentence. 

A  tremendous,  ear-splitting  explosion  rent  the 


86  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

air  and  threw  her  flat  upon  the  rock.  Larry's 
bomb  struck  the  base  of  the  tree  trunk,  and  the 
great  stick  was  shivered  into  toothpicks.  A 
shower  of  stones  and  dirt  fell  all  around  us;  and 
as  a  second  explosion — from  my  bomb,  which 
struck  the  ledge — split  the  ears  of  the  crowd  and 
hurled  many  from  their  feet,  panic  took  posses 
sion  of  them,  and  they  scattered  like  geese. 

"The  mountain  is  on  fire !  Run  for  your  lives !" 
yelled  Larry,  imitating  the  Carib  negro's  Spanish 
intonation.  As  he  spoke,  he  threw  his  second 
bomb  against  a  tall,  dead  tree. 

This  explosion  seemed  to  come  from  the  mouth 
of  the  angry  volcano  itself;  and  those  of  the  panic- 
stricken  blacks  who  had  not  fainted  or  plunged 
into  the  jungle  for  safety,  bolted  for  the  pathway 
by  which  we  had  come. 

By  this  time  the  queen  had  recovered  her  feet, 
and  was  vainly  trying  to  reassemble  her  wor 
shipers.  "He  wants  more  blood — more  red 
blood!"  she  screamed,  evidently  badly  frightened 
herself,  but  resolved,  nevertheless,  to  go  on  with 
the  ceremony.  "Hold  the  calf  while  I  use  the 
knife." 

The  dog  man,  who  had  clung  to  Alphonse  in 
spite  of  the  force  of  the  explosions,  dragged  the 
boy  toward  her. 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  87 

"Fire  off  another  torpedo,"  cried  Larry,  "while 
I  give  the  dog  boy  a  pill  from  my  gun."  As  he 
spoke,  he  aimed  his  revolver  at  the  hairy  thing, 
and  fired. 

The  creature  turned  a  somersault  in  the  air, 
and  tumbled  from  the  platform,  with  the  boy  still 
in  his  arms. 

The  queen  whirled  round  and  faced  us.  "There 
are  white  devils  here!"  she  screamed.  "That  was 
one  of  their  shots.  Kill  them!  Kill  them!" 

Obeying  Sullivan's  command,  I  threw  my  re 
maining  bomb  at  another  tree,  near  the  altar. 
Larry,  at  the  same  moment,  made  a  dash  in  the 
direction  of  the  place  where  Alphonse  and  the  dog- 
man  had  fallen.  I  followed  at  his  heels. 

Either  the  force  of  the  last  explosion  had  thrown 
the  queen  from  the  platform  or  she  had  fled  with 
her  followers.  Old  Papaloi  and  Mamanloi  were 
frenziedly  running  about  the  platform  with  their 
rags  on  fire. 

"Here's  the  boy,  but  where's  the  dog-man?" 
cried  Larry,  as  we  reached  the  side  of  the  rocky 
altar  and  found  the  little  fellow  unhurt,  though 
weeping  bitterly. 

"I  could  swear  that  I  hit  his  dogship  squarely 
on  the  head,"  continued  Larry,  much  mystified. 
"Perhaps  some  of  the  others  carried  him  off." 


88  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

On  the  way  to  the  path  leading  down  the  moun 
tain,  we  found  Celeste,  but  could  not  revive  her. 
"We  will  have  to  leave  her  here,"  decided  Larry, 
after  assuring  himself  that  she  was  alive  and  un 
hurt.  "We  can  take  the  boy  with  us.  She  knows 
the  way  home.  The  Yellow  Queen  and  her  people 
may  be  back  most  any  minute,  so  I  suggest  that 
we  hike  out  in  a  hurry." 

We  stumbled  through  the  darkness  to  the  edge 
of  the  plateau,  and  began  our  descent,  unmolested. 
Below  us,  crashing  down  the  tortuous  pathway  in 
their  terror  to  escape  from  the  wrath  above,  we 
heard  the  Voodoo  worshipers  running,  stumbling, 
falling  as  they  went. 

"No  wonder  I  didn't  kill  the  brute,"  said  Larry 
suddenly,  after  we  had  accomplished  half  the 
journey.  "I  should  have  had  more  sense  than  to 
fire  at  his  head." 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  GOVERNOR-GENERAL  LIES 

THE  rays  of  the  morning  sun  reached  the  consu 
late  before  we  did.  Our  progress  down  the  moun 
tain  path  was  even  slower  than  our  ascent,  for 
we  took  turns  at  carrying  Alphonse.  He  weighed 
probably  no  more  than  fifty  pounds;  but,  before 
we  were  halfway  down  the  slope,  I  could  have 
sworn  that  he  tipped  the  scale  at  two  hundred. 

The  terror  of  the  last  few  hours  had  so  preyed 
upon  the  little  fellow's  mind  that  he  was  in  a  high 
fever  when  we  started,  and,  by  the  time  we 
reached  the  foothills,  three  miles  from  the  con 
sulate,  he  was  delirious,  and  fighting  imaginary 
kidnappers  in  his  dreams.  Sometimes  we  had 
the  utmost  difficulty  to  keep  him  from  leaping 
out  of  our  arms. 

After  a  while,  however,  he  dropped  into  a  sleep 
which  was  as  unnatural  as  it  was  deep.  To  make 
my  labor  the  harder,  the  pounding  I  had  received 

89 


90  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

* 

on  the  rock,  when  I  was  spilled  from  the  boat, 
was  recalled  by  the  aching  of  my  bruises,  which 
gave  me  acute  torture  at  every  step.  Had  the 
journey  been  a  mile  longer,  I  am  sure  I  should 
have  dropped  in  my  tracks. 

The  Stars  and  Stripes,  floating  over  the  con 
sulate,  its  colors  shining  brightly  in  the  morning 
sun,  made  one  of  the  prettiest  pictures  I  had  ever 
seen;  and  I  am  sure  I  never  saw  a  house  that 
looked  as  homelike  and  cozy  as  the  pretty, 
thatched  cottage,  set  in  its  frame  of  emerald. 

The  consul  was  in  the  front  yar.d,  with  his  rifle 
over  his  shoulder,  when  we  turned  up  the  path 
leading  into  the  grounds.  He  observed  us  at  once, 
and  came  running  in  our  direction,  with  a  shout 
of  joy. 

"Hooray,  hooray!"  he  cried.  "They've  come 
back  safe,  and  they've  got  the  boy." 

He  took  the  sleeping  child  from  Sullivan's  arms, 
and  shook  our  hands  vigorously.  "My  brave 
boys !  Thank  God,  you  are  safe !  Did  you  have  a 
fight?  Did  you  see  the  Yellow  Queen?  Aren't 
you  hungry  as  bears  ?  Here — wife,  Norelle,  every 
body!  The  rescuers  have  returned." 

With  a  rattling  fire  of  questions  and  exclama 
tions,  and  a  torrent  of  congratulations,  he  led  the 
way  to  the  house. 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  91 

"And  how  did  you  get  through  the  night?" 
asked  Larry,  after  the  general's  bubbling  joy  had 
boiled  down,  and  we  had  assured  him  that  we 
were  safe  and  sound. 

"We  got  along  famously,"  replied  the  counter 
part  of  Lincoln.  "I'm  proud  of  my  little  army — 
proud  of  them !  Every  one's  a  soldier  to  the  back 
bone.  Captain  Billings  and  Mr.  Hollis  made 
grand  sentries,  and  my  wife  and  daughter  are 
brave  as  a  regiment.  We  didn't  get  much  sleep, 
as  you  may  imagine,  for  we  were  afraid  the  black 
rascals  might  come  back;  but  we  came  through 
the  ordeal  in  fine  spirits." 

Mrs.  Pierson  and  Norelle  came  running  to  the 
porch,  in  response  to  the  general's  shouts,  and  the 
captain  and  Hollis  made  their  appearance  soon 
afterward.  Mrs.  Pierson  took  Alphonse  from 
the  general's  arms,  and  at  once  put  him  to 
bed. 

"To  think  of  the  perils  you  have  braved!"  she 
cried,  coming  from  the  room  wrhere  she  had  left 
the  child.  "You  brave,  heroic,  noble  young  men! 
I  feel  as  though  I  could  embrace  you  both." 

"Sure,  you  may  begin  this  minute,"  was  Larry's 
gallant  response. 

"I  suppose  you  had  to  kill  just  hundreds  of 
those  poor  blacks  before  they  would  give  up  their 


92  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

sacrificial  victim,"  said  Mrs.  Pierson,  beginning 
to  weep  at  the  thought.  Then,  to  my  dismay, 
Norelle,  who  had  not  spoken  since  our  arrival, 
broke  down,  too,  and  joined  her  tears  with  those 
of  her  mother. 

"Oh,  please  don't,  ladies!"  I  cried,  as  a  lump 
rose  in  my  throat. 

"We'll  cry  just  as  much  as  we  want  to!" 
snapped  Norelle,  her  eyes  flashing  through  her 
tears.  "And  you  needn't  flatter  yourselves  that 
we  are  crying  about  you,  either;  for  we  aren't. 
We're  just  crying  to  think  of  the  poor,  innocent, 
misguided  negroes  that  you  slaughtered — you 
brutes !" 

"Why,  Norelle,  dear!"  cried  her  mother,  in 
shocked  amazement. 

"They're  both  about  unnerved  and  unstrung," 
said  the  general,  "and  it's  little  wonder,  when 
you  think  of  what  they  have  gone  through  during 
the  last  twenty-four  hours." 

"To  set  your  minds  at  rest,  ladies,"  said  Larry, 
"we  did  not  kill  a  single  one  of  the  black  devils, 
though  they  needed  killing,  goodness  knows.  We 
just  treated  them  to  a  good  scare,  sent  them  racing 
down  the  hill  in  a  hurry,  grabbed  the  kid,  and 
here  we  are." 

"But  where  is  Celeste?"  asked  Mrs.  Pierson, 


93 


noticing  for  the  first  time  that  the  colored  woman 
had  not  returned. 

"Safe  and  sound.    She'll  be  here  soon,"  I  said. 

"We  are  wasting  time,"  said  General  Pierson. 
"You  know,  dear,  that  our  heroes  must  be  half 
starved.  They  haven't  had  a  drop  or  a  bite  since 
they  left  on  their  perilous  journey,  last  evening." 

"You  bet  we're  hungry,"  exclaimed  Larry,  "and 
I'll  give  you  fair  warning  that,  unless  you  give  us 
something  to  eat  pretty  soon,  I'm  going  to  begin 
on  the  doorknobs." 

While  we  were  doing  justice  to  what  seemed  to 
me  the  best  breakfast  I  had  ever  tasted,  Larry 
and  I  told  the  company  the  incidents  of  the  night. 
Mrs.  Pierson,  as  was  her  wont,  shed  a  few  tears 
here  and  there  during  the  recital;  but  Norelle's 
eyes  were  ablaze  with  interest. 

"I  never  wanted  to  be  a  man  so  much  in  all  my 
life,"  she  exclaimed,  after  we  had  finished  the  nar 
rative.  "Just  think  of  all  the  fun  I've  missed." 

"Such  language!"  reproved  Mrs.  Pierson  se 
verely.  "I  do  not  consider  that  at  all  decorous, 
my  dear." 

"Can't  help  it,  mother  mine,"  replied  the  girl. 
"It's  not  my  fault.  The  times  are  to  blame. 
They've  got  out  of  joint  with  decorum,  that's  all." 

When  we  had  concluded  the  meal,  the  general 


94  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

arose,  with  the  announcement  that  he  was  going 
to  town,  as  soon  as  he  had  completed  the  prepara 
tion  of  a  note  to  the  state  department  at  Wash 
ington. 

"I  intend  to  make  a  peremptory  demand  for  a 
war  ship  at  St.  Croix,"  he  said.  "Our  lives  are  no 
longer  safe  here.  We  are  likely  to  be  butchered 
at  any  moment  by  the  fanatical  followers  of  this 
yellow  woman,  who  seems  to  be  running  the 
island.  If  Spain  cannot  protect  the  lives  of  those 
whom  she  is  bound  to  safeguard  under  inter 
national  law,  it  is  high  time  for  the  United  States 
to  take  a  hand.  If  the  administration  refuses  to 
send  me  a  ship,  by  George,  there'll  be  a  vacancy  in 
my  post !  I'd  stick  it  out  without  asking  for  help, 
if  I  were  a  single  man;  but  I  owe  it  to  my  wife 
and  daughter  to  demand  protection  from  this 
Voodoo  woman's  fiendishness.  Do  you  not  agree 
with  me,  gentlemen?" 

"We  do!"  I  exclaimed  warmly.  "But  you  may 
count  on  us  as  long  as  we  can  be  of  the  least  assist 
ance  to  you." 

"We'll  be  with  you  as  long  as  we've  a  drop  of 
blood  left,"  added  Larry. 

"That's  my  sentiment,  to  a  T.,"  said  the  captain. 

"I  0.  K.  all  of  that,"  exclaimed  Hollis. 

"It's  ever  so  good  of  you,  gentlemen,  and  I 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  95 

appreciate  it  to  the  full,"  said  General  Pierson. 
"You  are  all  brave  and  gallant  fellows,  but  for 
that  you  do  not  deserve  especial  praise.  You  are 
all  good  Americans,  and,  as  such,  cannot  help  toe 
ing  the  mark  to  the  fighting  line,  when  woman 
hood  is  in  danger.  Just  the  same,  there  are  plenty 
of  men  who  would  have  decamped  and  left  us  to 
our  fate.  Believe  me,  my  wife,  my  daughter,  and 
I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  our  hearts." 

We  all  looked  somewhat  embarrassed  under  this 
open  praise,  and  Larry  hastened  to  change  the 
subject,  by  asking  the  consul  if  he  could  accom 
pany  him  to  town. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "there  is  a  certain  Ameri 
can  tourist,  now  in  Gabrielle,  whom  I  am  very 
anxious  to  meet.  It  is  just  possible  that  he  is  now 
taking  in  the  sights  of  your  capital." 

The  general  agreed  readily,  and  I  made  a  faint 
effort  to  join  the  party  also;  for  I  believed  it  to 
be  my  duty  to  go  along,  if  there  were  any  chance 
of  meeting  Varney.  At  the  same  time,  I  was 
nearly  dead  on  my  feet.  Aching  and  weary  as  I 
was,  I  marveled  at  the  force  of  will  and  muscle 
that  drove  Larry  to  further  exertion. 

"I  think,  Jack,  you  had  better  stay  here,"  said 
Larry.  "The  ladies  need  your  protection.  You 
are  not  in  fit  shape  to  do  any  more  walking  to-day. 


96  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

Stay  here  and  get  a  good  rest,  old  man.  You 
needn't  fear  that  I'll  bag  the  game  without  you. 
The  very  best  I  can  hope  to  do  is  to  locate  him. 
We've  corralled  him  on  the  island,  where  he  can't 
get  away  from  us ;  so  we  needn't  worry  over  the 
outcome  of  the  chase.  We'll  get  him." 

"While  the  general  is  preparing  his  note  for  the 
state  department,  I  will  write  a  dispatch  for  the 
World-Union,"  I  said.  "Will  you  be  good  enough 
to  see  it  aboard  the  steamer,  Larry?" 

"I'll  swim  with  it  to  New  York,  if  necessary," 
asserted  the  warm-hearted  detective. 

In  spite  of  my  weariness,  I  wrote  more  than  a 
column,  detailing  Varney's  movements  from  the 
time  when  he  left  New  Orleans  to  the  landing  on 
Gabrielle.  "I  devoted  considerable  space  to  the 
manner  in  which  he  outwitted  the  police  of  the 
Crescent  City,  the  chase  across  the  Gulf,  and 
the  storm  and  fire  which  forced  him  to  abandon  his 
tug  and  land  at  St.  Croix  in  a  rowboat.  I  ad 
dressed  the  dispatch  to  the  superintendent  of  the 
telegraph  company  at  New  York,  the  first  Amer 
ican  port  touched  by  the  departing  steamer,  and 
inclosed  a  request  that  he  wire  it  to  the  World- 
Union  from  the  metropolis.  I  also  gave  Larry  a 
ten-dollar  gold  piece  for  the  purser  of  the  boat, 
who,  with  this  as  an  accelerator,  would  probably 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  97 

see  that  the  manuscript  was  delivered  to  the 
office  of  the  telegraph  company  without  delay. 

"This  will  score  beat  number  one,  if  it  gets 
there,"  I  exclaimed,  with  some  satisfaction,  as 
Larry  placed  the  dispatch  in  his  pocket. 

"I  haven't  one  bit  of  curiosity,  Jack,  my  boy," 
said  Larry,  "but  I'm  hoping  that  you  didn't  put 
the  people  wise  to  the  way  Varney  slipped  through 
my  hands,  on  the  way." 

"You  don't  suppose  I  could  afford  to  miss  a 
good  story  like  that,  do  you  ?"  I  asked,  with  a  wink 
at  the  general. 

"Then  you  can  carry  your  own  blooming  dis 
patch  to  St.  Croix!"  exclaimed  Sullivan,  looking 
as  though  he  had  lost  his  last  friend  on  earth. 

"I  wouldn't  write  that  for  a  thousand  dollars — 
indeed,  I  wouldn't !"  I  protested,  with  a  laugh. 

After  the  general  and  Larry  had  started  for  the 
village,  Mrs.  Pierson  and  Norelle  went  to  their 
rooms  for  a  much-needed  rest.  Captain  Billings 
and  Mr.  Hollis  insisted  that  I  follow  the  example 
set  by  the  ladies;  and,  after  a  feeble  resistance, 
I  obeyed. 

"We'll  stand  watch  while  you  get  a  couple  of 
hours'  sleep,"  said  the  captain. 

When  I  awoke  it  was  dark,  and  I  could  hear 
the  voice  of  Celeste  crooning  over  her  boy  in  some 


98  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

room  on  the  lower  floor.    I  arose  softly,  and,  going 

to  the  top  of  the  stairs,  looked  over  the  banisters. 
i 

Norelle  was  turning  the  gloom  into  bright 
ness,  downstairs;  and  I  said  to  myself  that  she 
was  the  sweetest  little  lamplighter  in  all  the 
world. 

As  I  descended  the  stairs,  Celeste  ran  out  into 
the  hall,  and,  dropping  on  her  knees,  kissed  my 
hand.  "You  save  my  Alphonse;  I  die  for  you — 
I  die  for  you!"  she  cried. 

"If  you  want  to  die  for  any  one,  die  for  Sulli 
van,"  I  said.  "He  saved  your  boy,  not  I." 

"What  on  earth  do  you  think  has  happened  to 
the  general  and  Mr.  Sullivan?"  asked  Mrs.  Pier- 
son,  in  an  anxious  tone  of  voice,  as  I  entered  the 
sitting  room. 

"Why,  haven't  they  got  back  yet?"  I  asked. 

"They  should  have  returned  two  or  three  hours 
ago,"  continued  Mrs.  Pierson.  "Norelle  and  I  are 
dreadfully  worried." 

"I  don't  wonder  at  it  a  bit,"  I  said  incautiously ; 
then  added,  to  reassure  her :  "But,  after  all,  there 
is  nothing  to  be  alarmed  about.  They  can  take 
very  good  care  of  themselves,  never  fear.  If  you 
say  so,  however,  I'll  be  glad  to  go  in  search  of 
them." 

"Where   would   you    search?"   asked   Norelle, 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  99 

whose  pale  face  and  anxious  eyes  cut  me  to  the 
heart  and  made  me  yearn  to  comfort  her  as  only 
a  lover  can.  "You  know  nothing  about  St.  Croix 
in  the  daytime — much  less  at  night." 

"We  might  hunt  at  the  steamship  offices,  and 
other  likely  places,"  suggested  Billings,  who  en 
tered  from  the  yard  at  that  moment. 

"And  leave  us  all  alone,  at  the  mercy  of  the 
Voodoos!"  wailed  Mrs.  Pierson.  At  the  very 
thought  of  such  a  fate,  the  good  woman  burst  into 
tears.  She  stifled  her  sobs  in  a  moment,  however, 
as  the  sound  of  a  revolver  or  rifle  shot  was  heard 
in  the  distance. 

"It  was  a  shot!"  exclaimed  Norelle. 

Billings  and  I  dashed  out  of  the  house,  drawing 
our  revolvers  as  we  ran. 

"Where  did  that  shot  come  from?"  I  asked 
Hollis,  who  was  standing  guard  outside  the  door. 

"From  down  the  road  toward  town,"  he  replied. 

We  strained  our  eyes  through  the  darkness,  but 
could  see  nothing  save  the  shadowy  forms  of  the 
trees ;  nor  could  we  hear  anything  more  suspicious 
than  the  droning  of  insects,  and  the  calls  of  night 
birds  in  the  jungle. 

Then  we  heard  a  voice. 

"Hallo — hallo!"  The  shout  came  from  down 
the  road. 


100  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

"It's  the  general!"  I  exclaimed,  and  halloed  in 
reply. 

"Bring  a  lantern,"  came  a  faint  command,  this 
time  in  Larry's  voice. 

I  rushed  back  into  the  cottage,  seized  the  lan 
tern  from  its  peg  on  the  wall,  lighted  it,  and  ran 
out  again.  "They  are  both  back  safe  and  sound," 
I  cried  reassuringly  to  the  ladies.  "Haven't  any 
idea  what  they  want  with  the  light;  am  going  to 
find  out,"  I  added,  as  they  besieged  me  with  ques 
tions. 

I  hurried  down  the  pathway  into  the  road. 

"Straight  ahead,  Jack,"  I  heard  Larry  call,  and 
was  at  their  side  in  the  space  of  two  or  three 
minutes. 

They  were  both  bending  over  a  dark  object.  It 
was  evidently  the  form  of  a  man,  either  grievously 
hurt,  or  dead,  for  it  did  not  stir  when  I  came  up 
with  the  lantern. 

"Who  is  he?"  I  asked,  handing  the  lantern  to 
Larry. 

"That's  what  we'd  like  to  know,"  replied  Gen 
eral  Pierson. 

Larry  held  the  lantern  so  that  its  rays  illumined 
the  swarthy,  mustached  visage  of  a  man  of  forty. 
A  long,  dirk-like  knife  was  lying  beside  the  pros 
trate  figure,  and,  as  I  gazed  curiously  at  the 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  101 

weapon,  I  was  horrified  to  see  a  thin,  black  stream 
creep  from  beneath  his  arm,  and  make  its  silent 
way  to  the  edge  of  the  path,  where  it  formed  a 
slowly  widening  pool. 

"Heavens!"  I  cried.  "The  man  is  bleeding  to 
death.  Who  stabbed  him?" 

"He  ought  to  die,  the  thug,"  said  Sullivan. 

"But  who  stabbed  him?"  I  repeated  the  ques 
tion  with  a  shudder. 

"He  wasn't  stabbed.  I  shot  him,"  replied  Larry 
shortly. 

"Let  us  see  how  seriously  he  is  wounded,"  said 
the  general,  opening  the  unknown's  vest,  as  he 
spoke,  and  revealing  a  black,  powder-burned  hole 
in  his  shirt  bosom.  The  bullet  had  entered  about 
two  inches  below  the  shoulder. 

"Not  likely  to  prove  fatal,"  observed  the  gen 
eral.  "It  was  too  high  to  strike  the  lung;  so  it's 
only  a  flesh  wound,  after  all.  Let  us  get  a  shutter 
from  the  house,  and  put  him  to  bed." 

"But  what  did  he  do?"  I  asked,  completely  mys 
tified  over  the  gruesome  proceeding. 

"He  tried  to  kill  me,  and  would  undoubtedly 
have  succeeded,  but  for  the  quickness  of  Mr.  Sul 
livan,"  explained  General  Pierson. 

"He  waylaid  you  as  you  were  coming  home?"1 
I  asked,  horrified. 


102  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

"Just  so.  There  were  a  couple  of  them,"  con 
tinued  General  Pierson.  "They  sprang  out  upon 
us,  one  from  either  side  of  the  road,  but,  luckily 
for  us,  they  misjudged  their  distance  in  the  dark 
ness.  Sullivan  floored  one  of  them  with  a  blow  of 
his  fist,  and  then  turned  his  attention  to  the  other 
fellow,  who  was  attacking  me.  How  on  earth  he 
managed  to  shoot  the  assassin  without  blowing 
my  brains  out,  is  more  than  I  can  understand,  but 
the  fact  remains  that  he  did  it — and  mighty 
quickly,  too." 

"What  an  experience!"  I  exclaimed,  looking 
down  at  the  figure  in  the  road. 

"Oh,  that's  only  one  of  a  number  of  interesting 
little  events  that  have  happened  this  day,"  re 
marked  Larry  cheerfully.  "Haven't  we  had  a  fine 
time  of  it,  general?" 

"I  hope  I'll  never  put  another  such  a  day  over 
my  head,"  said  the  consul  fervently. 

"What  else  happened?"  I  asked 

"Oh,  a  whole  bunch  of  things,  first  and  last," 
said  Sullivan.  "Met  our  mutual  friend,  for  one 
thing." 

"What!  Varney?"  I  cried. 

"Just  so.  Didn't  I  tell  you  that  I'd  locate  him? 
Well,  I  did." 

"We'd     better    hurry     home     and     get     that 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  103 

stretcher,"  interrupted  General  Pierson.  "The 
sooner  he  gets  attention,  the  better  it  will  be 
for  him.  We  can  tell  our  experiences  to  the 
whole  company  at  supper.  For  my  part,  I'm 
ready  to  do  justice  to  almost  any  sort  of  a 
meal." 

"I  can  hold  up  my  end  at  the  table,  I  guess," 
remarked  Larry,  picking  up  the  lantern  and  start 
ing  in  the  direction  of  the  house. 

"Why  didn't  you  arrest  Varney,  when  you  had 
the  chance?"  I  asked,  as  we  hurried  along.  I  was 
consumed  with  impatience  to  hear  the  story. 

"Who  said  I  had  a  chance  to  get  him?"  asked 
Larry  testily. 

"You  said  you  met  him,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  did ;  but  meeting  a  man  and  putting  him 
behind  the  bars  are  not  one  and  the  same.     I 
didn't  arrest  him,  because  I  couldn't.    And,  what 
is  more,  we  may  run  into  a  whole  lot  of  difficulty! 
before  we  do  land  him." 

"Just  unhinge  one  of  those  blinds,  captain," 
said  the  general  to  the  river  man,  as  we  reached 
the  gateway;  then,  to  Mrs.  Pierson  and  Norelle, 
who  were  upon  the  porch,  he  called :  "We'll  join 
you  in  a  few  minutes.  We're  all  right,  and  happy, 
but  hungry  as  wolves." 

I  carried  the  blind  which  Billings  brought,  and 


104  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

we  proceeded  back  over  the  road  to  get  the 
wounded  man. 

"Well,  this  is  queer!"  exclaimed  Larry,  after 
we  had  walked  quite  a  distance.  "We  have  cer 
tainly  passed  the  spot  where  we  left  the  scoun 
drel." 

We  searched  diligently  up  and  down  the  road, 
and  finally  came  to  the  pool  of  blood. 

"He  was  playing  'possum,  and  decamped  just 
as  soon  as  our  backs  were  turned,"  said  the 
general. 

"Or  his  companion  in  crime  dragged  him  away," 
I  suggested. 

"I  think  it  would  be  wise  to  give  up  the  search," 
said  Sullivan;  "for  one  or  both  of  those  chaps  may 
take  it  into  their  heads  to  pot  at  us  from  the 
bushes.  We  don't  need  the  fellow,  anyway,  and 
I'm  rather  relieved  than  otherwise,  to  think  we 
are  rid  of  him  so  easily.  Had  we  kept  him,  we 
would  have  been  obliged  to  prosecute  him  in  court, 
and  that  would  have  made  us  a  lot  of  trouble." 

"That's  a  very  sensible  way  to  look  at  it," 
agreed  General  Pierson. 

So  we  abandoned  the  hunt  and  hastened  back 
to  the  consulate. 

Mrs.  Pierson  threw  herself  into  her  husband's 
arms.  "My  hero!"  she  cried.  "I  feared  you 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  105 

would  never  return.  What  on  earth  detained  you 
so  long?" 

"When  you  hear  all  the  harrowing  details,  you 
will  agree  that  this  has  been  our  busy  day,"  re 
plied  the  general,  patting  his  wife's  head  as  he 
would  that  of  a  little  child.  "We  have  brandished 
revolvers,  have  had  various  and  sundry  encoun 
ters  with  bad  men,  and  have  had  a  most  thrilling 
time  generally." 

"Oh,  tell  us  about  it!"  cried  Norelle,  clapping 
her  hands  ecstatically  at  the  prospect.  "If  these 
sensations  continue,  Mr.  Smith  will  never  be  able 
to  do  justice  to  the  assignment.  It  will  take  a 
whole  staff  of  journalists  to  tell  half  the  story.'* 

"Not  a  word  until  we  get  something  to  eat,  my 
dears,"  said  the  general  decisively.  "We  cannot 
tell  our  thrilling  story  on  such  empty  stomachs 
as  ours." 

"Then  I'll  help  Celeste  dish  up,  so  that  we  can 
eat  the  sooner,"  said  Norelle.  "But,  mind  you," 
she  added,  as  she  paused  at  the  door,  "not  one 
word  of  the  adventures  until  I  get  back;  for  I 
don't  want  to  miss  a  syllable." 

"That's  a  promise,"  said  Larry. 

"Did  you  meet  any  Voodoos?"  asked  Mrs.  Pier- 
son,  after  Norelle  had  left  the  room. 

"Not  one,"  said  the  general. 


106  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

"I  guess,"  remarked  Sullivan,  "the  Yellow 
Queen  has  about  concluded  that  she'll  run  her 
religious  show  without  the  assistance  of  Celeste's 
boy.  She  had  better  reach  that  conclusion,  if  she 
knows  what's  good  for  her — eh,  Jack?" 

"Don't  be  too  sure  that  you  have  her  beaten," 
admonished  General  Pierson.  "Joan  of  Lazarre 
is  vindictive,  and  has  a  long  arm.  Do  not  under 
estimate  her  strength;  for,  as  I  told  you  before, 
she  is  the  real,  dominating  power  on  the  island." 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  exclaimed  Norelle, 
with  a  flourish,  appearing  at  the  door,  "supper 
is  now  being  served  in  the  dining  room.  Passen 
gers  who  change  cars  at  Voodoo  Station  will 
please  step  lively." 

"That  means  us,  Jack,"  said  Larry,  springing 
to  his  feet.  "Madam,  permit  me."  As  he  spoke, 
he  offered  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Pierson,  who  accepted 
it  with  a  low  bow. 

I  was  about  to  offer  mine  to  Norelle,  but,  to  my 
disappointment,  she  seized  her  father's  coat  sleeve, 
and  led  him  into  the  dining  room,  favoring  me 
with  a  mischievous  glance,  however,  which  half 
recompensed  me  for  my  loss. 

As  soon  as  we  were  seated  at  the  table,  she 
exclaimed:  "Now,  daddy,  commence.  I  just  can't 
eat  a  mouthful  until  I  hear  the  news." 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  107 

"Well,"  began  the  general,  with  a  flourish  of 
his  knife.  "I'll  give  you  the  most  important  and 
thrilling  piece  of  news  at  the  start.  Mr.  Sullivan 
is  to  fight  a  duel  with  the  governor-general  at 
sunrise  to-morrow." 

"What !"  we  all  cried.    "A  duel  ?" 

"A  duel,"  repeated  General  Pierson,  enjoying 
the  sensation  he  had  created.  "A  duel  with  forty- 
five-calibre  revolvers;  so  you  may  know  that  it 
is  no  play  affair." 

"Oh,  do  not  do  it,  Mr.  Sullivan,  I  beg  of  you — 
do  not  do  it!"  cried  Mrs.  Pierson. 

"Go  on,  daddy — go  on,"  said  Norelle,  ignoring 
her  mother's  flutter  of  terror.  "Now,  what  did 
Mr.  Sullivan  do  to  make  the  governor-general 
challenge  him?  I  know  that  Mr.  Sullivan  must 
have  had  the  choice  of  weapons,  for  no  Spaniard 
would  ever  choose  forty-fives." 

"Quite  right,  little  girl,"  agreed  her  father. 
"Why,  Mr.  Sullivan  really  didn't  do  very  much  to 
him.  He  simply  jammed  his  hat  down  over  his 
nose,  slapped  him  in  the  face  two  or  three  times, 
and  then  kicked  him  out  of  the  door — really  noth 
ing  that  any  gentleman  should  object  to,  I'm  sure." 

"Well,  of  all  things!"  cried  Norelle.  Then  she 
turned  to  Larry,  and  asked:  "Why  did  you  treat 
the  gentleman  so  harshly?" 


108  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

"He  prevented  me  from  taking  the  thief  I  was 
after,"  replied  Larry.  "Besides  that,  he  made  a 
number  of  very  impolite  remarks  in  my  presence, 
and  lied  outrageously  to  the  United  States  consul." 

Lary  then  turned  his  attention  to  the  soup,  and 
began  to  eat  with  evident  relish. 

"Oh,  go  on — please  go  on!"  exclaimed  Norelle 
impatiently.  "You  know  we  are  just  dying  to 
hear  all  the  rest  of  it.  What  did  you  do?  What 
did  Varney  do?  And  what  did  the  governor- 
general  do?" 

I  do  not  think  that  poor  Mrs.  Pierson  was  able 
to  recover  her  breath  during  the  remainder  of 
the  meal.  All  she  could  do  was  to  gasp  occasion 
ally,  as  one  sensation  after  another  was  sprung 
and  explained.  For  my  own  part,  I  must  confess, 
I  was  so  much  astonished  at  the  unexpected  chain 
of  events  that  you  could  have  knocked  me  down 
with  a  feather. 

"That's  all  there  is  to  it,"  said  Larry,  in  answer 
to  Miss  Pierson's  demand.  "The  gentleman  with 
the  plug  hat  challenged  me;  I  accepted,  very 
naturally ;  and  we  will  have  it  out  in  the  morning." 
He  ended  his  remarks  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone, 
and  resumed  his  meal,  as  though  the  whole  ac 
count  were  finished. 

"That  is  not  all  there  is — not  by  a  long  sight," 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  109 

cried  General  Pierson,  now  gesticulating  wildly 
with  both  knife  and  fork.  "If  you'll  not  do  the 
story  justice,  Sullivan,  I'll  have  to  tell  it  myself." 

"Oh,  go  on,  daddy — go  on!"  cried  Norelle. 
"Mr.  Sullivan  is  altogether  too  modest.  What's 
the  use  of  doing  things,  I'd  like  to  know,  unless 
you  tell  people  about  them?" 

"This  is  how  it  came  to  pass,"  began  the  con 
sul.  "After  we  had  visited  the  steamer  at  the 
dock,  and  had  left  Mr.  Smith's  article  for  the 
paper  and  my  note  for  the  state  department,  Mr. 
Sullivan  and  I  started  out  on  a  little  hunting 
expedition  for  the  banker.  We  soon  ran  across 
two  or  three  very  promising  clues,  but  all  of  them 
seemed  to  fizzle  out. 

"We  learned  that  Varney  had  been  to  the  Hotel 
Madrid,  but  had  left  the  place,  bag  and  baggage. 
The  driver  of  the  cab  which  had  taken  him  to  the 
hotel  assured  us  that  he  had  driven  him  to  the 
palace  of  the  governor-general  and  had  left  him 
there.  So  to  the  palace  of  the  governor-general 
we  went,  posthaste. 

"It  took  us  some  little  time  to  obtain  an  audi 
ence  with  his  excellency;  but  when  we  finally 
landed  in  his  sanctum  sanctorum,  he  slobbered 
over  us  as  though  we  were  the  President,  the  su 
preme  court,  and  both  houses  of  congress  all 


110  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

rolled  into  one.  The  usual  amount  of  blarneying 
on  both  sides  being  disposed  of,  we  finally  got 
down  to  business,  and  I  explained  Mr.  Sullivan's 
mission.  Mr.  Varney,  we  told  him,  had  been  last 
seen  entering  his  palace ;  and  if  he  wanted  to  play 
the  part  of  a  real  friend  of  the  United  States,  it 
was  up  to  him  to  tell  us  where  we  could  find  the 
gentleman." 

"Did  he  tell  you?"  asked  Norelle  as  her  father 
paused  for  breath. 

"He  lied  like  a  thief,"  continued  the  narrator. 
"Said  he  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  such  a  man. 
Did  he  but  know  anything  of  his  whereabouts, 
however,  it  would  give  him  the  most  superlative 
pleasure  to  put  us  on  the  track.  He  would  give 
us  his  sacred  word  of  honor,  which  he  prized  sev 
eral  times  more  than  life  itself,  or  his  hope  of  the 
hereafter,  that  he  would  at  once  order  his  captain- 
general  of  police  to  apprehend  the  man  instanter. 
And  he  further  assured  us,  on  the  memory  of  his 
sainted  mother  and  of  his  honorable  ancestors, 
that  twenty-four  hours  should  not  be  allowed  to 
pass  over  our  heads  before  we  should  have  the 
fugitive  under  lock  and  key.  After  some  more 
of  the  same  sort  of  tommyrot  of  the  Spanish  diplo 
matic  brand,  we  left,  with  mutual  expressions  of 
undying  affection. 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  111 

"By  the  merest  good  luck,  on  the  way  back  to 
the  hotel,  we  passed  by  the  cab  stand  in  the  plaza, 
and  one  of  the  jehus  hailed  us.  It  was  the  man 
who  had  taken  the  banker  to  the  governor-gen 
eral's  palace.  Did  our  excellencies  desire  to  know 
more  about  the  gentleman  of  whom  we  were  in 
quiring?  We  guessed  we  did,  about  one  peso's 
worth.  Then  he  told  us  that  he  had  seen  Varney 
entering  the  Plaza  Restaurant,  not  ten  minutes 
before  that  selfsame  moment. 

"So  into  the  Plaza  Restaurant  we  went.  No 
trace  of  Varney  was  there,  however.  As  we  were 
somewhat  weary  from  our  long  hunt,  we  decided 
to  remain  in  the  restaurant  for  some  refreshment, 
and  took  seats  at  one  of  the  tables.  While  we 
were  waiting  for  our  order,  who  do  you  suppose 
entered  the  place?" 

"Varney,"  I  cried,  breathless  with  excitement. 

"Wrong.  The  governor-general,"  said  the  gen 
eral,  pausing  to  allow  the  sensation  to  work  its 
proper  effect. 

"He  had  come  to  meet  Varney  by  appointment, 
to  make  a  deal  of  some  sort  with  him,"  cried 
Norelle. 

"Just  so ;  or,  at  any  rate,  that  is  the  way  Sulli 
van  figured  it  out,"  continued  General  Pierson. 
"I,  myself,  was  too  thick-headed  to  see  through  it 


112  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

at  first.  Well,  anyway,  to  resume :  The  governor- 
general  sailed  into  the  restaurant,  followed  by  five 
or  six  of  his  gold-laced  young  officers.  As  soon  as 
he  laid  eyes  on  us,  he  changed  color,  I  thought,  but 
carried  it  off  pretty  well ;  for  he  bowed  very  low, 
smiled  beatifically,  and  passed  on  through  the 
room.  When  he  reached  the  far  end  of  the  place, 
a  door  closed  after  him  and  his  party." 

"And  then  Mr.  Sullivan  went  in  after  Varney," 
said  Norelle,  her  eyes  ablaze.  "Oh,  I  just  know 
that  is  what  he  did !" 

"He  did,  and  I  followed  him,"  agreed  the  gen 
eral.  "The  waiters  tried  to  oppose  our  progress, 
but  Sullivan  tripped  up  one,  and  shook  his  fist  in 
the  face  of  a  second  so  fiercely  that  he  lost  all 
desire  for  further  interference." 

"And  Varney  was  in  there?"  I  cried. 

"He  was,  as  large  as  life.  So  was  the  governor- 
general,  and  his  gold-laced  officers,  but  their  pres 
ence  did  not  disconcert  Sullivan  one  iota.  Varney 
and  the  governor-general  were  just  clinking 
glasses  as  we  entered,  unannounced.  Sullivan 
had  both  his  revolvers  out  in  a  wink ;  and  Varney, 
who  was  facing  us,  was  the  first  to  see  our  en 
trance.  As  his  eyes  took  in  the  revolvers,  he 
dropped  his  glass  of  wine  on  the  floor,  with  a 
crash. 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  113 

"The  governor-general  showed  a  good  deal  more 
pluck  than  I  thought  he  possessed,  for  he  quietly 
put  his  glass  upon  the  table,  turned  around,  and, 
springing  at  Sullivan  like  a  cat,  caught  both  his 
wrists  in  his  hands. 

"  'Arrest  the  American  dogs !'  he  cried  to  the 
young  officers  of  his  staff.  But  they  were  not 
made  of  the  same  sort  of  stuff  that  he  was,  and 
all  wilted. 

"I  had  my  revolver  out,  by  this  time,  and  was 
covering  a  couple  of  the  pretty  boys  in  gold  lace. 
They  backed  into  the  corner  of  the  room,  and  held 
up  their  hands,  as  though  they  expected  me  to 
go  through  their  pockets.  Probably,  down  there, 
every  time  a  man  pulls  a  gun,  the  other  fellow 
expects  to  be  robbed." 

"Yes,  yes!  Go  on,  daddy — go  on!"  cried  No- 
relle,  as  her  father  paused  and  very  deliberately 
took  out  his  handkerchief  to  wipe  his  spectacles. 

"What  happened  to  Varney?"  I  asked. 

"Varney  disappeared  through  the  back  door, 
during  the  excitement,  and  we  haven't  seen  him 
since,"  continued  the  general.  "It  took  Sullivan 
just  about  half  a  minute  to  put  the  governor- 
general's  fighting  apparatus  out  of  commission. 
He  could  no  more  hold  Sullivan's  wrists  than  he 
could  a  locomotive. 


114  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

"In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  he  had  the 
governor-general's  two  hands  held  in  one  of  his 
like  a  vise,  had  backed  him  up  against  the  wall, 
and  was  talking  to  him  like  a  Dutch  uncle. 

"I  was  almost  sorry  for  his  excellency,  for  it 
must  have  been  very  humiliating  to  his  Castilian 
pride.  Jamming  his  excellency's  head  against  the 
wall,  with  his  two  hands  shoved  up  under  his  chin 
so  that  his  face  made  an  attractive  mark,  Sullivan 
slapped  his  excellency's  right  cheek. 

"  'Take  that/  he  said,  'for  lying  to  the  United 
States  consul  this  afternoon.  And  that,  for  lying 
to  me/  he  continued,  slapping  his  excellency's  left 
cheek. 

"  'Take  that  for  refusing  to  give  up  a  fugitive 
from  American  justice' — another  slap — 'and  that, 
for  having  such  a  worthless  lot  of  officers  on  your 
staff' — shoving  his  excellency's  hat  down  over  his 
nose — 'and  that,  for  daring  to  lay  your  hands  on 
the  representative  of  the  greatest  chief  of  police 
in  North  America.'  With  the  last  remark,  Sulli 
van  turned  his  excellency  around,  and  kicked  him 
out  of  the  door,  through  which  Varney  had  made 
his  escape." 

"And  what  did  the  poor  fellow  do?"  asked  No- 
relle.  "I  think  he  was  treated  just  brutally.  My 
sympathies  are  on  the  other  side." 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  115 

Larry  looked  a  little  crestfallen  at  this  unex 
pected  reproof,  but  said  nothing. 

"What  could  he  do?"  replied  the  general.  "By 
this  time,  half  his  fighting  force  had  disappeared, 
and  the  other  half  was  helpless  in  the  corner,  with 
their  hands  up  over  their  heads.  His  excellency 
picked  himself  up  as  quickly  as  he  could,  shook 
his  fist  at  Sullivan,  and  demanded  'satisfaction.' 

"  'I  challenge  you  to  meet  me  at  daybreak  to 
morrow!'  he  hissed. 

"  'I'm  yours  at  sun-up ;  we'll  use  forty-fives  at 
ten  paces/  said  Sullivan. 

"That  ended  the  affair,  and  we  came  home." 

"And,  on  the  way,  two  friends  of  the  governor- 
general  met  you  in  the  dark!"  I  exclaimed,  my 
blood  hot  with  indignation  at  the  thought. 

"By  George,  I  never  thought  of  that!"  cried 
General  Pierson. 

"I  did,"  said  Larry.  "A  little  more  of  that  fish, 
if  you  please." 


CHAPTER  VI 

AT  THE  DUELLING  GROUND 

THE  end  of  another  night  of  anxious  vigil  found 
the  little  band  at  the  consulate  in  a  highly  nervous 
state  of  mind. 

The  General  was  irritable,  and  Mrs.  Pierson 
was  even  more  prone  to  tears  than  usual,  if  such 
a  condition  were  possible.  Norelle  had  become 
wan  and  pale,  but  her  beauty  was  more  radiant 
than  ever.  Larry,  Billings,  Hollis,  and  I  were  all 
pretty  well  fagged  out,  and,  when  the  ladies  were 
out  of  hearing,  indulged  in  more  profanity  than 
was  necessary,  meanwhile  planning  various  hor 
rible  modes  of  execution  for  the  Yellow  Queen, 
should  she  ever  fall  into  our  hands. 

Things  had  been  bad  enough  before  the  General 
and  Larry  had  visited  St.  Croix;  but  now,  with 
the  added  peril  of  the  duel  hanging  over  our  heads, 
I  most  heartily  wished  that  Mr.  McCalla,  my  edi 
tor  in  St.  Louis,  had  selected  some  other  promising 

116 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  117 

young  newspaper  man  for  the  star  assignment  of 
jthe  year. 

I  had  not  slept  more  than  two  hours  that  morn 
ing,  when  Sullivan  waked  me.  "Are  you  going 
to  act  as  one  of  my  seconds,  or  are  you  going  to 
sleep  all  day?"  he  demanded,  shaking  me  by  the 
shoulder. 

"Oh,  the  duel!"  I  cried,  rubbing  my  tired  eyes, 
and  looking  out  of  the  window  into  the  dull  gray 
dawn.  "What  time  is  it?" 

"Four-thirty,  and  the  sun  will  be  up  in  an 
hour,"  he  replied.  "If  you  want  a  cup  of  coffee 
before  you  start,  you'd  better  be  moving." 

"I  don't  want  anything  to  eat  or  drink," 
I  replied,  "and  shouldn't  think  you  would, 
either," 

"Don't  worry  about  me,"  laughed  Larry  cheer 
fully.  "Save  your  sympathy  for  the  other  fellow. 
He  needs  your  prayers — not  I." 

"But  he  may  shoot  you,  just  the  same!"  I  ex 
claimed  apprehensively. 

"He  hasn't  the  ghost  of  a  chance,"  retorted  Sul 
livan.  "I'll  kill  him  at  the  first  shot,  if  I  want  to. 
I  wonder  if  he  has  a  family?  I  think  I'll  find  out 
before  the  affair  comes  off,  and,  if  he  has,  will 
merely  break  his  pistol  arm  or  his  leg.  I  really 
don't  care  to  send  him  over  the  divide,  for  he's 


118  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

no  coward,  even  if  his  pretty  officers  are  sissy 
boys." 

"But  he'll  kill  you,  if  he  can." 

"I  wouldn't  be  at  all  surprised,"  chuckled  Larry. 

General  Pierson  was  at  the  breakfast  table  when 
we  got  down.  "If  you  are  as  prompt  in  shooting 
as  you  are  in  rising,"  he  said  to  Larry.  "I'll  have 
no  fears  for  the  outcome." 

"I'm  not  worrying  at  all,  at  all,"  said  Sullivan, 
seating  himself.  Then  he  asked:  "Any  trace  of 
the  blacks  during  the  night?" 

"Not  a  sign,"  replied  the  general  testily.  "By 
George,  I'm  getting  so  sick  of  this  night-watch 
business  that  I  wish  they  would  come  and  have  it 
out.  I'm  beginning  to  think  they  have  abandoned 
the  game.  Still,  we  must  not  relax  our  vigilance. 
The  very  first  night  we  took  off  the  guard  would 
be  the  time  they'd  pay  us  a  visit.  Nevertheless, 
I'm  somewhat  encouraged  with  the  situation ;  and 
if  the  governor-general  was  off  my  mind,  I  could 
really  begin  to  view  the  future  with  an  optimistic 
eye." 

"You  can  use  that  eye  right  now,"  exclaimed 
Larry.  "But  where  is  the  captain?  He  was  to 
act  as  my  other  second." 

"Outside,  squinting  at  the  weather,  I  believe," 
said  the  general.  "But,  to  return  to  the  duel — 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 


for  I  can't  think  of  anything  else  —  do  you  know, 
Sullivan,  I  wish  I  was  a  private  citizen,  so  I  could 
attend  the  function  in  person.  I  do  not  approve 
of  duels  as  a  general  thing;  but  when  they  can't 
be  avoided  without  injury  to  a  gentleman's  stand 
ing  in  society,  and  especially,  when  the  challen 
ging  party  resorts  to  the  hiring  of  assassins,  I  say 
let  them  be  real  fights.  Your  choice  of  forty-fives 
stirred  my  blood  as  it  has  not  been  stirred  these 
thirty  years." 

"But  you  can  go  along  and  see  it,  can't  you?" 
asked  Larry. 

"It's  absolutely  out  of  the  question.  Think  of 
the  scandal  it  would  make  —  the  United  States 
consul  present  at  the  duel  in  which  his  excellency 
the  governor-general  was  wounded  or  killed  !  The 
President  would  order  my  recall  by  the  first 
steamer." 

"You're  sure  going  to  miss  the  fun  of  seeing  a 
hot-tempered  Spanish  gentleman  get  hurt,"  re 
marked  Larry  gravely.  "But  I  guess,  after  all, 
that  wouldn't  be  such  a  pleasant  sight.  Before 
we  start,  general,  I  wish  you  would  give  us  steer 
ing  directions.  Where  did  his  excellency  say  it 
was  to  be  pulled  off?" 

"In  the  grove  beyond  the  cathedral  cemetery," 
replied  the  consul.  "You  can't  miss  the  way. 


120  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

Just  follow  the  road  we  took  to  town  yesterday, 
and  turn  to  the  right  at  the  second  intersecting 
street.  The  cathedral  is  on  the  brow  of  the  hill 
at  the  end  of  the  street,  and  the  cemetery  is  on 
the  high  ground  east  of  the  building.  Here's  a 
map  of  St.  Croix  and  suburbs — and  here,  at  this 
point,  is  the  cathedral." 

General  Pierson  produced  a  map,  and  pointed 
out  the  spot  and  the  street  we  should  take  to 
reach  it. 

Captain  Billings  entered  as  we  were  examining 
the  map. 

"That's  right — sail  by  chart!"  he  exclaimed  ap 
provingly.  "No  matter  where  you  are  going,  on 
sea  or  dry  land,  it's  always  a  grand  plan  to  work 
by  chart." 

Just  as  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  tipped  the  caps 
of  the  mountains  with  silver,  we  started  for  the 
trysting  place  of  death.  I'll  omit  a  description  of 
Mrs.  Pierson's  tears,  and  her  remarks  upon  the 
occasion,  which  were  as  hysterical  as  usual.  I 
would,  if  I  could,  tell  you  of  the  lovelight  I  thought 
I  saw  in  Norelle's  eyes,  and  describe  for  you  the 
thrill  in  our  handclasp  at  the  door. 

"Remember,  the  honor  of  the  Stars  and  Stripes 
must  be  upheld !"  cried  General  Pierson  after  us, 
as  we  walked  rapidly  down  the  path. 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  121 

When  we  reached  the  second  road  leading  to 
the  uplands,  and  turned  our  faces  toward  the  tall 
spire  of  the  cathedral,  a  great  bell  tolled  dismally 
from  some  church  in  the  city.  After  a  brief  space, 
another  bell  rang  out  upon  the  morning  air — and 
yet  another,  and  another.  Soon,  the  deep  tones 
from  the  cathedral  above  us  joined  in  the  sonor 
ous  refrain. 

"They  seem  to  be  tolling  for  the  dead,"  re 
marked  Captain  Billings. 

"I  think  it  is  some  feast  day,"  said  Larry. 

"It  sends  the  chills  up  and  down  my  back,"  I 
exclaimed.  "I  don't  like  to  hear  it,  especially  upon 
an  occasion  like  this." 

We  were  the  first  to  reach  the  duelling  ground, 
and  I  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  thus  afforded  to 
admire  the  beautiful  scene  spread  out  below  us. 

A  crescent  of  pearls  in  a  setting  of  emerald,  St. 
Croix  nestled  between  the  mountains  and  the  sea. 
Her  white  houses  glistened  prettily  in  the  rays  of 
the  new  sun;  and,  high  over  our  heads,  like  a 
feather  in  a  woman's  hat,  the  plume  of  smoke 
from  Mont  Lazarre's  smoldering  fires  stretched 
miles  out  over  the  silent  sea.  Eastward  and  west 
ward  from  Mont  Lazarre  were  other  peaks, 
rising  blue  and  hazy  into  the  fleece-flecked 
sky.  Save  for  the  tolling  of  the  bells,  all  was 


122  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

quiet  on  Gabrielle;  for  the  island  was  yet  abed. 

But,  even  as  we  stood  spellbound  by  the  scene, 
a  change  came  over  the  town  below.  The  roll  of 
drums  and  the  blare  of  bugles  were  lifted  to  our 
ears;  and,  as  the  sounds  floated  upward,  around 
the  corner  of  the  governor-general's  palace,  and 
into  the  great  public  square,  swept  line  after  line, 
and  company  after  company,  of  marching  soldiers. 

"Pretty  early  for  military  manoeuvres,  don't 
you  think?"  commented  Larry. 

"There  must  be  fully  two  regiments  of  them," 
exclaimed  the  captain,  as  the  troops  continued  to 
pour  into  the  square. 

"The  governor-general  is  late,"  I  said.  "It  be 
gins  to  look  as  though  he  was  not  going  to  keep 
the  engagement." 

"There's  a  horseman  coming  this  way,"  cried 
Larry,  pointing  down  the  road  up  which  we  had 
come. 

"And  at  a  pretty  good  clip,  too,"  remarked  the 
captain. 

The  rider  was  urging  his  steed  as  though  he 
were  charging  an  enemy's  battery,  and  came  up 
the  incline  at  a  pace  that  would  have  killed  any 
ordinary  horse. 

"It's  one  of  Plug  Hat's  young  staff  officers," 
said  Larry.  Then  he  added:  "But  there's  no 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  123 

dodging  the  fact  that  he  can  ride  like  a  cowboy.'* 

The  horseman  dashed  up  to  where  our  little 
group  was  standing,  and  drew  rein  so  suddenly 
that  the  big  bay  came  to  his  haunches. 

"Bad  news — deplorable  news,  senors!"  he  ex 
claimed  with  a  salute. 

"What  is  it?"  we  cried  in  a  breath. 

"His  excellency,  the  governor-general "  He 

began,  then  stopped  and  crossed  himself. 

"Is  not  ill,  I  hope?"  exclaimed  Larry. 

"Is  dead!"  cried  the  officer.  "He  was  found 
strangled  in  his  bed  this  morning.  He  was  mur 
dered  during  the  night." 

"Then  there  will  be  no  duel  this  morning,"  said 
Larry,  "unless  you,  seiior,  have  come  to  take  his 
excellency's  place." 

"I?  No,  thank  you,  senor!"  exclaimed  the  of 
ficer,  with  a  laugh.  Then,  sobering  at  once,  he 
continued:  "I  can  serve  my  dead  commander  far 
better,  I  think,  by  trying  to  discover  and  punish 
his  murderer." 

"Then  you  do  not  even  know  who  killed  him?" 
I  ventured. 

"No,"  he  admitted.  "We  do  not  know  by  whose 
hand  he  died,  but  we  do  know  who  ordered  the  vile 
deed  done." 

"Who?"  asked  Larry. 


124  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

"The  Yellow  Queen — the  Voodoo  scourge,  of 
course.  But  I  swear  by  the  Virgin  that,  if  the 
Lord  gives  me  strength  for  a  few  days,  we  will  rid 
the  island  of  this  blight!  See  the  troops  down 
there  ?  General  Bolero  is  now  preparing  to  march 
into  the  mountains,  for  the  purpose  of  exterminat 
ing  that  she-devil  and  all  her  followers.  He  has 
declared  war  to  the  death  against  the  Voodoos. 
Every  negro,  not  a  Christian,  who  is  found  upon 
the  island  from  this  day  forth,  is  to  die.  The 
whites  are  being  called  in  from  the  suburbs,  and 
the  town  is  under  martial  law.  Messengers  have 
been  sent  forth  to  carry  the  warning  to  all  out 
lying  dwellings.  The  American  consulate  is  out 
side  of  the  protected  zone ;  and  it  was  for  the  pur 
pose  of  giving  the  consul  and  his  family  timely 
notification,  as  well  as  to  explain  his  excellency's 
unavoidable  non-appearance,  that  I  rode  this  way. 
Remember,  it  is  death  to  all  blacks  who  are  not 
vouched  for  by  the  priests.  Adios,  senors." 

The  young  officer  rode  away,  and  we  hastened 
back  to  the  consulate  with  all  possible  speed. 

When  we  reached  the  house,  we  found  that  the 
grim  news  had  preceded  us.  General  Pierson  and 
his  family  were  already  busily  engaged  in  pack 
ing  up  their  belongings,  for  removal  to  the  city. 
Hollis  was  assisting  them  in  the  role  of  Chief 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  125 

mover.  By  good  luck,  he  had  managed  to  secure 
a  pony  and  cart,  and  was  shouldering  trunks, 
boxes,  and  valises  with  the  adroitness  and  speed 
of  an  expressman. 

"Perhaps  I  ought  to  stay  and  fight  it  out,"  said 
General  Pierson  doubtfully,  "but  I  am  convinced 
that,  in  this  crisis,  'discretion  is  of  valor  the  bet 
ter  part.'  Even  President  Lincoln,  I  feel  sure, 
would  do  just  as  I  am  doing,  if  his  dear  ones  were 
threatened  as  mine  are  now.  But  you  wait  until 
they  send  me  that  war  ship !  With  two  or  three 
companies  of  marines  from  the  Texas,  I  could 
stand  off  all  the  Voodoos  in  the  West  Indies." 

The  sun  set,  that  night,  in  a  bath  of  blood,  and 
Mont  Lazarre's  menacing  rumblings  shook  the 
earth  so  that  the  very  walls  of  the  Hotel  Madrid, 
where  we  had  sought  temporary  quarters,  rocked 
upon  their  foundations. 

But  redder  than  the  skies,  and  redder  than  the 
tongues  of  flame  that  licked  the  volcano's  mouth, 
were  the  streams  that  poured  from  the  thresholds 
of  the  negro  huts  in  the  environs  of  St.  Croix. 
When  the  troops  returned  that  night,  dusty, 
weary,  and  sickened  with  their  day's  work,  they 
reported  to  General  Bolero  that  three  hundred 
heathen  blacks  had  fallen  before  their  rifles  and 
machetes. 


126  THE    HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

"Did  you  get  the  Yellow  Queen?"  demanded 
Bolero  of  the  officer  who  brought  him  the  report. 

"No,  general — not  yet,"  was  the  reply. 

"Then  you  will  kill  six  hundred  Voodoo  wor 
shipers  to-morrow,  and  a  like  number  every  day 
thereafter,  until  that  wench  is  caught!"  cried 
General  Bolero.  "Thus  will  I  avenge  his  excel 
lency's  foul  murder,  and  put  an  end  to  Voodoo- 
ism  in  Gabrielle." 

At  ten  o'clock  that  evening,  a  messenger  came 
to  the  hotel  and  asked  for  General  Pierson.  When 
the  consul  returned  to  the  parlor,  where  Larry 
and  I  were  seated  in  the  company  of  the  ladies,  he 
said: 

"Let  us  go  upstairs.  The  consulate  is  on  fire, 
and  we  may  see  the  flames  from  the  upper  bal 
cony." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  OTHER  MAN  IN  THE  CASE 

You  will  thank  me  for  dismissing  the  terrible 
events  of  the  next  two  weeks  as  briefly  as  possible. 

The  town  was  an  armed  camp,  and  every  day 
the  screams  of  tortured  negroes  in  the  square 
made  an  awful  accompaniment  to  the  tramp  of 
soldiers  and  the  beat  of  drums.  In  retaliation  for 
the  slaughter  of  her  people,  the  Yellow  Queen 
prosecuted  throughout  the  island  a  campaign  with 
knife  and  torch.  Every  white  man's  home  was 
burned,  and  hundreds  of  valuable  sugar,  tobacco, 
and  coffee  plantations  were  laid  waste. 

In  spite  of  the  utmost  vigilance  on  the  part  of 
the  soldiers — in  spite  of  thick  walls  and  double- 
bolted  doors — three  other  prominent  Spanish 
officials  were  murdered  in  their  beds.  The  prose 
cutor,  who  prepared  the  informations  and  ap 
peared  at  the  trials  of  several  hundred  Voodoo 
worshipers,  was  found  one  morning  with  the 
handle  of  a  dirk  protruding  from  the  bosom  of  his 
nightshirt. 

127 


128  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

The  judge  who  presided  over  the  same  court 
and  sentenced  the  blacks  to  death  was  discovered 
with  his  hands  and  feet  bound  together,  hanging 
by  his  neck  from  the  headpost  of  his  bed ;  and,  to 
complete  the  ghastly  trilogy,  Colonel  Aguilas,  who 
for  ten  days  had  led  General  Bolero's  soldiers  on 
their  merciless  pursuit  of  the  Voodoos,  was  dis 
covered,  at  dawn,  gagged  and  strapped  to  the  cot 
in  his  tent.  His  orderly,  who  went  to  awake  him, 
thought  at  first  that  the  colonel  was  asleep,  but 
ran  out  of  the  tent,  screaming  with  terror,  when 
he  turned  down  the  coverlet  and  found  the  cot 
swarming  with  centipedes! 

Nearly  every  square  inch  of  the  colonel's  body 
bore  a  sting,  and  his  sufferings  before  death  must 
have  been  horrible  beyond  description. 

General  Bolero  himself,  it  was  whispered,  had 
received  warning  from  the  Voodoo  Queen  that  the 
fate  in  store  for  him  was  to  be  more  terrible  than 
that  of  any  of  the  others.  If  such  a  message  had 
been  conveyed  to  him,  it  did  not  swerve  him  one 
inch  from  the  bloody  path  he  was  pursuing.  On 
the  contrary,  he  hunted  down  the  Voodoo  people 
more  relentlessly  than  ever,  drove  their  bands 
deeper  into  the  mountains,  and  put  to  death,  with 
even  more  fiendish  methods  of  torture,  those  who 
fell  into  his  hands. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  129 

It  was  said  that  General  Bolero  never  slept ;  and 
when  I  chanced  to  meet  him,  one  day,  surrounded 
by  his  armed  guards,  I  said  to  myself  that  I  could 
well  believe  the  story — for  he  looked  like  Death 
himself.  His  coal-black  eyes,  burning  from  yel 
low,  hollowed  cheeks,  glared  restlessly  about,  as 
though  momentarily  expecting  to  meet  the  queen's 
avenger.  His  head  was  forever  wagging  from 
side  to  side,  and  he  started  and  trembled  at  the 
least  unusual  sound. 

Although  our  movements  were  necessarily  ham 
pered  by  the  exactions  of  military  rule,  Larry 
and  I  searched  industriously  for  Varney.  But 
our  hunt  was  vain,  and,  after  two  weeks  had 
slipped  by  without  bringing  forth  the  faintest 
trace  of  the  missing  man,  we  were  forced  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  had  either  left  the  island  or 
had  been  killed  by  the  blacks.  If  he  had  taken 
refuge  in  the  mountains — as  was  more  than  likely, 
after  our  encounter  at  the  restaurant— it  was  al 
most  certain  that  he  was  dead ;  for,  in  their  frenzy 
for  reprisals,  the  Voodoos  had  murdered  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  of  Caucasian  blood  upon 
whom  they  could  lay  hands. 

General  Pierson  was  nearly  as  unhappy  as 
Larry  and  myself.  The  old  gentleman  chafed  un 
der  the  collar  of  idleness  which  events  had  forced 


130  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

upon  him,  and,  although  he  established  his  office 
in  the  hotel  and  attempted  to  carry  on  the  busi 
ness  of  the  consulate,  he  found  practically  noth 
ing  to  do.  Commerce  stood  still  in  the  city,  and 
throughout  the  island;  the  government  was  in  a 
state  of  chaos,  pending  the  appointment  of  a  new 
governor-general;  and,  with  military  rule  within 
the  city,  and  black  anarchy  without,  the  situation 
was  discouraging  in  the  extreme.  I  wrote  a  num 
ber  of  articles  for  my  paper,  and  shipped  them 
north  by  the  infrequent  steamers;  but  I  realized 
that,  unless  something  turned  up  soon,  I  should 
be  obliged  to  return  empty-handed  to  the  States. 

Although  I  was  not  acquitting  myself  with  much 
credit  in  the  news  or  in  the  detective  line,  I  was 
making  great  progress  in  another  direction.  I 
was  falling  so  deeply  in  love,  that,  I  told  myself, 
I  should  never  be  able  to  reach  the  surface  again, 
and  look  upon  the  world  with  the  same  eyes  that 
I  had  used  before  coming  to  Gabrielle. 

But,  as  day  by  day  I  became  more  and  more 
the  abject  slave  of  Norelle's  slightest  whim,  I 
found,  to  my  distress,  that  she  was  growing  fickle 
as  a  summer  breeze.  Often,  when  I  called  to  take 
her  upon  our  daily  walks  around  the  military 
lines,  or  up  to  the  cathedral  for  a  view  of  the  city 
and  the  sea,  she  would  send  ms  word  that  she  was 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  131 

busy  writing  letters,  or  was  sewing,  and  did  not 
care  to  go. 

Then  I  learned  of  another  man  in  the  case. 

Until  the  appearance  of  the  green-eyed  monster, 
I  had  borne  my  rebuffs  with  some  measure  of 
philosophy ;  but  as  soon  as  I  became  convinced  that 
there  was  a  good-looking  Spanish  gentleman  on  the 
Piersons'  visiting  list,  I  was  beside  myself  with 
rage.  I  lost  my  appetite,  grew  morose,  and  even 
threatened  to  take  the  next  steamer  for  New  York. 

But  when  the  ship  weighed  anchor,  I  was  not 
found  upon  the  purser's  list.  Wild  horses  could 
not  have  dragged  me  from  the  spot  where  my  lit 
tle  tormentor  was  housed ;  and,  had  I  received  per 
emptory  orders  to  go  home  without  delay,  I  feel 
certain  that  I  would  have  sent  back  my  resigna 
tion  and  remained  to  be  tortured. 

"You're  making  a  fool  of  yourself,  Jack,"  said 
Larry,  one  day.  "If  this  thing  goes  on,  your 
friends  won't  dare  to  speak  to  you,  for  fear  of 
having  their  noses  bitten  off.  Come,  now;  cheer 
up.  She's  got  eyes  for  none  but  you,  my  lad." 

"Then  she's  got  a  mighty  odd  way  of  showing 
it,"  I  retorted.  "Running  around  town  with  that 
Spanish  fellow!  Didn't  she  take  luncheon  with 
him  yesterday — and  didn't  she  make  one  of  his 
box  party,  the  night  before?" 


132  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

"But  the  party  was  given  in  honor  of  her 
father,"  said  Sullivan. 

"In  his  honor — fiddlesticks!"  I  exclaimed.  "He 
gave  the  party  solely  to  get  her  to  go  to  the  thea 
tre  with  him,  and  you  know  it.  Who  the  devil 
is  the  fellow,  anyway?  Do  you  know  anything 
about  him,  Larry?" 

"Not  very  much,"  he  admitted.  "Except  that 
his  name  is  Sagastor,  and  that  he's  got  no  end 
of  money.  He's  been  around  town  for  two  or 
three  weeks,  and  seems  to  be  hand  in  glove  with 
all  the  Spanish  officers.  But  don't  let  him  spoil 
your  digestion,  old  fellow.  You've  nothing  to  fear 
from  him.  Norelle  Pierson  is  a  sensible  girl — 
altogether  too  sensible  to  think  of  hitching  her 
self  to  some  foreigner  because  he  happens  to  have 
a  title  and  a  little  money." 

A  day  or  two  later,  I  gritted  my  teeth  with 
anger  when  I  read  in  the  papers  the  annoucement 
that  this  same  Sagastor  had  been  appointed  to  the 
vacant  governor-generalcy.  Even  the  subsidized 
papers  of  St.  Croix  were  unable  to  tell  their  read 
ers  anything  definite  concerning  the  new  official. 
They  spoke  in  the  vaguest  terms  about  his  dis 
tinguished  lineage,  of  his  great  executive  ability, 
and  of  his  unlimited  wealth. 

But  throughout  the  city  one  heard  little  praise 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  133 

for  Sagastor.  When  his  name  was  spoken  in  the 
cigar  stores  and  restaurants,  he  was  called  an  up 
start,  an  importation,  an  imposition  upon  the 
island  and  its  people.  His  sole  qualification  for 
the  place,  the  gossips  said,  was  the  price  paid  the 
home  government  for  the  place.  In  these  days, 
when  the  administration  at  Madrid  is  so  hard 
pressed  for  cash,  Mr.  Moneybags  can  have  any 
thing  he  wants.  It  is  disgusting.  However  Sa 
gastor  came  by  his  office,  there  was  no  belittling 
the  brilliance  of  his  inauguration.  A  magnificent 
pageant  of  soldiers  and  civilians,  of  churchmen 
and  municipal  dignitaries  accompanied  him  to  the 
cathedral,  where  he  received  the  blessing  of  the 
archbishop,  and  made  oath  of  allegiance  to  the 
church.  Following  the  religious  ceremony,  Sa 
gastor  took  the  legal  oath  of  office  at  the  palace, 
and  announced  the  members  of  his  cabinet. 

"The  new  governor-general  is  starting  out 
mighty  well,  I  think,"  observed  General  Pierson, 
at  supper,  that  evening.  "He  has  issued  a  proc 
lamation  abolishing  martial  law,  and  has  granted 
a  full  pardon  to  the  Yellow  Queen  and  all  her 
followers." 

"There  aren't  many  Voodoos  left  to  pardon,  are 
there?"  I  asked.  "I  shouldn't  think  the  queen  had 
a  corporal's  guard  left,  to-day,  after  all  the 


134  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

thousands  that  have  been  wiped  out  by  Bolero." 

"There  are  twenty  thousand  of  them  left,  if 
there's  one,"  replied  the  general.  "You  have  no 
idea  of  the  density  of  the  negro  population  in  other 
parts  of  the  island.  Bolero's  soldiers  never 
marched  more  than  ten  or  fifteen  miles  from  the 
city  during  all  their  negro-killing  campaign." 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  new  official?"  I 
asked. 

"I  think  he  will  make  a  first-rate  executive,"  re 
plied  the  general.  "You  see,  I've  been  acquainted 
with  him  for  some  little  time.  He  was  a  guest  at 
the  hotel  for  several  days,  while  waiting  for  the 
formal  announcement  of  his  elevation  to  the 
office." 

"And  I  knew  he  was  to  be  governor-general  a 
week  ago,"  put  in  Norelle,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"You  appear  to  have  a  very  confidential  ac 
quaintance  with  him,"  I  snapped  viciously.  "I 
suppose  you  like  him  pretty  well." 

"I  think  he  is  perfectly  grand,"  she  replied,  with 
a  dazzling  smile. 

"It  takes  only  a  little  gold  lace  to  turn  a  girl's 
head,"  I  blurted  out,  getting  up  from  the  table 
with  murder  in  my  heart. 

"And  it  takes  nothing  at  all  to  make  fools  of 
some  young  men,"  retorted  Miss  Pierson. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

VARNEY  REAPPEARS 

LARRY  rushed  into  our  room  and  began  throwing 
articles  of  clothing  into  his  valise.  He  was  evi 
dently  in  a  state  of  high  excitement;  for  he  ex 
claimed  : 

"Jack,  we've  got  him — we've  got  him  dead  to 
rights!" 

"Got  whom?"  I  asked. 

"Who  do  you  suppose?    Varney,  of  course." 

"Why  don't  you  lock  him  up,  then?"  I  asked. 
"Are  you  packing  your  things  to  go  home?" 

"I'm  going  to  lock  him  up  before  the  day  is 
over,"  replied  Larry,  continuing  his  hurried  pack 
ing;  "for  I'm  going  after  him  with  the  bracelets 
this  very  minute." 

"Then  I'm  going,  too,"  I  cried,  taking  on  a 
measure  of  his  excitement,  "I've  got  to  be  in  at  the 
finish  of  this  hunt,  you  know.  Where  is  he  ?  Who 
gave  you  the  tip?  How  are  you  going  to  take 
him?" 

135 


136  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

As  I  sent  in  a  rapid  fire  of  questions,  I  pulled 
my  valise  from  under  the  bed,  and  began  to  toss 
things  inside,  in  imitation  of  Sullivan. 

"He's  hiding  over  at  Angeles,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  island.  Been  there  for  two  weeks,  the 
crook,  and  is  to  sail  for  Spain  to-morrow.  But 
I'm  sorry  to  say,  old  man — the  fact  is,  I've  got  to 
do  this  job  alone." 

"What!"  I  cried.  "You  mean  to  tell  me  that 
I'm  not  going  with  you?  Oh  say — I  call  that 
pretty  shabby !  Why  can't  I  go  ?" 

"Because  I  had  to  promise  to  go  alone,  or  not 
at  all,"  explained  Larry.  "It  was  a  case  of  take 
the  tip  that  way,  or  not  get  it  at  all." 

"And  who  gave  you  this  wonderful  informa 
tion?"  I  asked  sourly. 

"The  captain-general  of  police,"  replied  Larry. 
"His  secret  service  men  located  Varney  over 
there,  and  are  to  help  me  take  him  when  I  reach 
Angeles.  As  far  as  that  is  concerned,  though,  I 
don't  need  any  help.  I  could  take  him  myself, 
any  day  he  ever  drew  breath.  Now,  don't  you  be 
cut  up  over  it,  old  partner.  You  know  that  you'll 
be  in  on  the  glory  and  the  cash,  share  and  share 
alike.  You  really  ought  to  be  glad  to  be  spared 
the  trouble." 

"But  it  is  just  as  important  for  me  to  be  in  at 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  137 

the  death  as  it  is  for  you !"  I  exclaimed.  "I  have 
my  orders  as  well  as  you  have,  and  I've  just  got 
to  go — that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

My  face  must  have  reflected  the  keen  dis 
appointment  I  felt;  for  Larry  hastened  to  say 
sympathetically : 

"I'd  like  best  way  to  have  you  along,  Jack;  but 
just  can't  take  you.  That's  the  final  word.  If  you 
act  ugly,  and  insist,  I'll  be  obliged  to  call  the  thing 
off,  and  we'll  never  get  him.  As  I  said  before,  I've 
got  to  go  alone,  or  not  at  all.  I've  given  my  word." 

"Well,  it  looks  mighty  suspicious  to  me !"  I  cried 
bitterly  "They  just  want  to  get  you  out  in  some 
God-forsaken  place  and  put  you  out  of  the  way. 
You'll  be  ambushed  on  the  road,  mark  my  word. 
I  wouldn't  go  a  step.  It  looks  crooked,  and  you 
know  it." 

"Gee,  but  you're  a  suspicious  young  person, 
aren't  you?"  cried  Larry,  with  an  assumption  of 
spirits  which  I  do  not  believe  he  felt.  "Now,  what 
possible  motive  could  the  captain-general  have  for 
giving  me  the  wrong  steer  ?  His  bread  is  buttered  on 
the  other  side ;  for  I've  promised  him  five  hundred 
dollars  if  he  gives  me  the  tip  that  lands  our  man." 

"Well,  I've  said  all  I  can,"  I  retorted  sulkily. 
"But  you  just  look  out  for  yourself — that's  all  I 
have  to  offer.  You'll,  at  least,  go  heeled,  and  leave 


138  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

the  bulk  of  your  coin  with  me  for  safekeeping." 
I  tossed  my  clothing  back  into  the  chest  of 
drawers,  and  kicked  the  satchel  under  the  bed. 

"Say,  what  do  you  take  me  for — a  kid?"  de 
manded  Larry.  "Any  joker  that  wants  to  hold 
me  up  on  the  road  is  welcome  to  try  it,  but  I'd 
advise  him  to  order  a  headstone  first." 

Heavy,  indeed,  was  my  heart  when  I  looked  out 
of  the  window,  ten  minutes  later,  and  watched 
Larry  drive  away  in  a  two-wheeled  cart.  He  was 
accompanied  by  a  man  whose  face  I  could  not  see, 
but  whose  shoulders  were  as  square  as  his,  and 
who  seemed  to  be  even  taller  than  he. 

Still  filled  with  misgivings,  I  went  downstairs, 
and  had  a  talk  with  the  clerk  of  the  hotel.  An 
geles,  he  told  me,  was  a  small  fishing  town  on  the 
northern  side  of  Gabrielle,  and  was  reached  from 
St.  Croix  by  a  tortuous  trail  leading  over  the 
shoulder  of  Mont  Lazarre. 

"What  sort  of  a  harbor  has  Angeles?"  I  asked. 

"None  to  speak  of,"  replied  the  clerk.  "It  can 
accommodate  a  few  fishing  boats,  but  none  of  any 
draught.  St.  Croix  has  the  only  harbor  worthy 
the  name  in  Gabrielle." 

"How  often  do  ships  clear  Angeles  for  Spain?" 
I  asked. 

The  man  laughed  aloud.     "Just  about  as  often 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  139 

as  they  do  for  heaven,"  he  replied.  "I  told  you 
that  ocean-going  vessels  could  not  be  accommo 
dated  in  the  harbor." 

"Thanking  the  clerk,  I  hurried  upstairs,  and 
packed  a  few  articles  in  a  hand  bag;  then  ran  up 
the  flight  of  steps  to  the  floor  above,  to  enlist  the 
services  of  Captain  Billings  and  Hollis.  I  was 
resolved  to  follow  Larry  to  Angeles,  with  all  pos 
sible  haste.  Had  I  heard  the  conspirators  plot 
ting  Sullivan's  death  on  the  road,  I  could  not  have 
been  more  certain  that  he  was  running  into  a 
trap. 

The  information  about  the  harbor  at  Angeles 
proved  the  captain-general  of  police  a  liar ;  and  all 
that  I  lacked  in  the  way  of  information  about  the 
attack  which  I  knew  would  be  made  upon  Larry, 
was  the  exact  location  of  the  spot.  If  I  could  not 
reach  the  scene  in  time  to  prevent  the  ambush,  I 
might  at  least  rescue  him,  if  he  were  taken  pris 
oner,  or  avenge  his  murder,  if  he  were  killed. 

With  the  detective  out  of  the  way,  Varney 
would  be  safe  in  Gabrielle.  He  could  pay  the 
captain-general  of  police  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars  for  Sullivan's  head,  just  as  easily  as  the 
latter  could  offer  five  hundred  dollars  for  his. 
The  embezzler,  doubtless,  figured  that,  after  he 
had  removed  the  detective,  it  would  be  an  easy 


140  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

matter  to  snuff  out  the  newspaper  man,  if  the  lat 
ter  should  fail  to  take  the  hint  and  leave  the 
island.  Sullivan  was  the  man  to  be  feared,  and 
Sullivan  had  obligingly  walked  into  his  net. 

As  I  hurried  by  the  Piersons'  suite,  on  the  floor 
above,  I  was  startled  to  encounter  a  Spanish  cap 
tain  of  cavalry  standing  outside  the  door.  I 
halted  in  front  of  him. 

"What  are  you  doing  here  at  the  door  of  the 
United  States  consul?"  I  demanded  hotly. 

"I  have  my  orders,  senor,"  he  replied  mildly. 

"Orders  to  watch  the  consul,  eh?"  I  cried.  "By 
Jove,  you'll  not  stand  here  long!  This  espionage 
won't  be  tolerated  a  moment  longer." 

I  was  fast  working  myself  into  a  passion,  and 
had  half  a  notion  to  thrust  my  revolver  down  the 
young  man's  throat. 

"Senor  has  no  cause  for  anger,"  he  said,  in  a 
conciliatory  tone.  "Believe  me,  senor,  I  am  not 
spying,  or  performing  any  other  unpleasant  duty. 
I  am  the  governor-general's  aide.  His  excellency 
is  making  a  call  upon  the  consul,  and  I  am  merely 
waiting  for  him  to  conclude  his  business." 

The  captain  was  so  decent  about  it  all  that  I 
would  straightway  have  apologized,  had  his  last 
words  not  aroused  the  tiger  of  jealousy  within 
my  breast. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  141 

"Oh,  ho!  He's  calling  upon  the  consul,  is  he?" 
I  sneered.  "You  had  better  say  upon  the  consul's 
pretty  daughter.  It  may  not  be  polite,  but,  by 
gad,  I'm  going  to  take  part  in  that  tete-a-tete, 
myself.  I'll  put  my  oar  right  into  this  pond,  now; 
and  I  don't  care  a  rap  whether  the  boat  tips  over 
or  not.  I  might  just  as  well  have  it  out  now  as 
later." 

"Senor  is  unduly  excited,  and  had  better  retire 
to  his  apartment,"  advised  the  captain,  not  un 
kindly.  "Possibly  he  was  up  late  with  his 
friends." 

"I  don't  blame  you  for  thinking  me  tipsy,"  I 
said,  a  little  more  calmly.  "Pray,  pardon  me,  cap 
tain  ;  but  the  thought  of  the  governor-general,  of 
all  men,  visiting  here  thus  early  in  the  morning, 
upsets  me  more  than  you  can  imagine." 

"I  have  had  affairs  of  the  heart,  myself,"  he 
said  sympathetically.  "But  do  you  not  think  it 
would  be  wise  to  wait  until  his  excellency  departs, 
and  you  are  in  a  calmer  mood?" 

"I  am  calm — perfectly  calm !"  I  cried,  my  anger 
leaping  to  the  boiling  point  to  belie  my  words. 
"And,  what  is  more,  I  wish  to  meet  the  governor- 
general,  face  to  face." 

"Just  as  the  senor  deems  best,"  said  the  cap 
tain,  with  a  bow,  stepping  aside  to  let  me  pass. 


142  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

"I  assure  you  I  have  no  warrant  to  bar  his  pas 
sage.  Nevertheless,  I  believe  my  counsel  wise." 

Not  deigning  to  answer  him,  I  threw  wide  the 
door,  and  strode  into  the  little  hallway  upon  which 
opened  the  various  rooms  of  the  suite.  Proceed 
ing  to  the  door  of  General  Pierson's  office,  directly 
ahead,  I  knocked,  and,  receiving  word  to  come  in, 
obeyed  the  order. 

The  general  was  alone,  as  I  had  surmised.  He 
looked  up  in  a  preoccupied  manner  from  a  pile 
of  documents,  and  asked : 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Smith?  Nothing? 
Well,  then,  you'll  pardon  me  if  I  go  ahead  with 
my  work.  You'll  find  the  women  folks  in  the  sit 
ting  room.  Walk  right  in."  And  he  buried  his 
nose  in  the  papers. 

I  did  as  he  bade  me,  and  entered  the  sitting 
room,  but  realized  on  the  instant  that  I  had  ar 
rived  at  a  most  inopportune  moment. 

The  governor-general  was  evidently  in  the 
midst  of  an  impassioned  declaration;  for  he  was 
clasping  Norelle's  hand,  and  was  pouring  a  tor 
rent  of  words  into  her  ear.  She  was  seated  in  a 
chair,  and  he  was  bending  over  her;  and,  in  the 
momentary  survey  I  took  of  the  tableau,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  she  was  yielding  to  his  suit.  If  she 
were  not,  why  did  she  allow  the  man  to  hold  her 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  143 

hand  without  protest?  Why  did  she  suffer  him  to 
proceed  with  his  odious  love-making? 

Neither  heard  me  open  the  door ;  and  as  I  stood 
there  upon  the  threshold,  my  hand  instinctively 
sought  the  rough  grip  of  my  revolver;  for  there 
was  murder  in  my  heart,  and  I  should  have  de 
lighted  in  sending  a  bullet  crashing  through  that 
black  crown,  so  near  the  sunny  curls  I  loved. 

There  was  something  strangely  familiar  in  the 
governor-general's  voice.  Surely  I  had  heard 
those  tones  before.  But  where? 

I  slammed  the  door  behind  me,  to  give  the 
lovers  due  notice  of  my  presence,  and  as  the  man 
whirled  round,  to  glare  fiercely  at  me,  his  iden 
tity  was  revealed. 

"Do  you  not  see  that  we  are  engaged?"  he  de 
manded,  in  hoarse,  angry  tones. 

Norelle  had  risen  to  her  feet,  with  a  gesture 
of  impatience;  but  I  observed  that  the  man  still 
grasped  her  hand. 

"I  beg  the  young  lady's  pardon/'  I  exclaimed, 
with  a  bow  to  Norelle. 

"And  mine,  senor,  as  well,"  said  the  governor- 
general,  in  a  still  more  angry  voice. 

"I  think  you  might  have  the  politeness  to 
leavG,"  Norelle  finally  said,  her  face  suffused  with 
blushes,  but  her  firm  lips  and  darkening  brow 


144  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

showing  that  she  regarded  my  appearance  as  an 
unpardonable  intrusion. 

"Leave  you — with  him  ?"  I  cried,  advancing  into 
the  room,  and  pointing  my  finger  at  the  man.  "I 
wonder  if  you  know  who  he  is?  If  you  had  the 
faintest  idea  of  his  identity  and  character,  you 
would  no  more  allow  him  to  touch  you  than  you 
would  the  deadliest  snake  in  Gabrielle." 

"Have  a  care!"  cried  the  governor-general 
threatingly. 

"He  is  my  friend,  and  my  father's  friend,"  said 
Norelle;  "and  while  he  is  in  our  house,  he  shall 
be  protected  from  insult.  I,  therefore,  ask  you, 
Mr.  Smith,  to  leave  the  room  at  once." 

"Not  until  you  hear  me  through !"  I  stormed,  in 
still  louder  tones.  "Not  until  I  tear  the  mask  from 
that  man's  face." 

"I  shall  hold  you  responsible  for  every  word 
you  utter,"  hissed  the  governor-general. 

"I  know  what  I  am  saying,  Joe  Varney,"  I  cried. 
"I  also  know  your  black  record.  Your  face  is  in 
the  rogue's  gallery  of  every  town  in  the  States, 
and,  by  Jove,  I'm  going  to  take  you  back  there, 
you  thief,  to  stand  trial  for  robbing  a  city  full  of 
widows  and  orphans!" 

"You  lie!"  he  shouted,  his  face  livid  with  rage. 
"For  this  I  shall  have  you  whipped  within  an  inch 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  145 

of  your  life  in  the  public  square.  I'll  teach  you  to 
insult  me  in  the  presence  of  the  young  lady  who 
is  to  become  my  wife." 

"Liar !"  I  screamed,  fairly  beside  myself.  "Be 
fore  I'd  see  her  your  wife,  I'd  see  her  in  her  grave, 
and  put  her  there  myself.  Any  woman  were  bet 
ter  dead  than  linked  to  a  creature  like  you." 

"By  God,  I'll  kill  you  for  that!"  cried  the  mas 
querading  embezzler,  whipping  out  a  dagger  and 
rushing  at  me.  Norelle  screamed;  General  Pier- 
son  and  the  Spanish  captain  burst  into  the  room 
through  one  door,  and  Mrs.  Pierson  through 
another. 

"Stop!  This  is  American  territory,"  cried  the 
consul.  But  Varney  bore  down  upon  me,  with  his 
knife  upraised,  and,  just  as  the  blade  was  about 
to  descend,  he  felt  the  chill  muzzle  of  my  revolver 
thrust  against  his  throat. 

"Drop  the  knife,"  I  cried,  "or,  by  the  eternal, 
I'll  blow  daylight  through  your  neck !" 

The  dagger  fell  with  a  rattle  to  the  floor ;  and, 
as  I  glared  into  his  eyes,  I  could  see  the  blood  re 
ceding  from  his  veins,  and  his  face  take  on  a 
sickly,  greenish  hue  of  fear. 

"Stand  where  you  are,  captain,"  I  cried,  over 
my  shoulder,  to  the  advancing  Spanish  officer. 
"Another  step  by  you  means  his  excellency's  death." 


146  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

"No  farther,  captain,  I  beg  of  you!"  pleaded 
Varney,  whose  trembling  knees  now  threatened 
to  let  him  to  the  floor.  "Please  leave  the  room  at 
once,  captain;  for  I  think  Seiior  Smith  and  I  can 
settle  our  little  differences  without  your  aid." 

I  heard  the  captain's  footsteps  receding  rapidly, 
and  was  certain  that  he  had  gone  to  summon  help 
for  his  commander.  Within  a  few  minutes,  I 
knew,  the  hotel  would  be  surrounded  by  a  cordon 
of  soldiers,  and  I  should  be  caught  like  a  rat  in  a 
trap. 

"If  it  were  not  for  making  a  mess  on  the  floor, 
and  distressing  Miss  Pierson  and  her  mother,  I'd 
end  your  career  right  now!"  I  exclaimed,  boring 
the  revolver  barrel  deep  into  Varney's  throat,  un 
til  he  whined  with  pain.  "But  I'll  spare  you,  for 
their  sakes.  Now,  I'm  going  to  join  Sullivan  on 
the  wild-goose  chase  you  sent  him  on.  But  we'll 
come  back  soon  and  get  you,  you  thief — mark  my 
words;  we'll  get  you!  Good-by,  Miss  Pierson; 
good-by,  Mrs.  Pierson;  good-by,  general.  You 
had  better  revive  your  guest.  His  excellency  has 
developed  a  sudden  weakness." 

As  I  spoke,  Varney's  legs  gave  way,  as  though 
some  one  had  struck  him  in  the  middle,  and  he 
crumpled  up  on  the  floor. 

I  turned  and  ran  out  of  the  room  at  full  speed. 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  147 

The  hotel  lobby  was  almost  deserted,  and  only 
the  clerk,  and  one  or  two  loungers,  looked  up  as 
I  dashed  out  of  the  door,  and  down  the  street,  in 
the  direction  of  the  nearest  carriage  house.  I  was 
thankful  that  the  livery  stable  was  located  on  a 
side  street;  for,  when  I  turned  the  corner,  I  was 
out  of  sight  from  the  hotel,  and,  unless  I  had  been 
observed,  I  was  beyond  danger  of  immediate  pur 
suit. 

"A  horse — a  saddle  horse,  at  once!"  I  cried, 
rushing  into  the  stable,  and  shaking  the  propri 
etor,  who  sat  dozing  in  a  chair. 

"Going  for  the  doctor?"  he  asked,  arising  and 
hurrying  to  the  stalls. 

"More  urgent  than  that,"  I  exclaimed.  "I  ride 
for  the  priest.  Even  now,  the  poor  man  may  be 
passing  away,  with  all  his  sins  upon  his  head." 

"Holy  Virgin !"  he  cried,  crossing  himself.  "I 
pray  you  may  get  him  in  time.  Pay  me  when 
you  return.  You  are  at  the  hotel,  are  you  not; 
with  the  American  consul?" 

"Yes — many  thanks,"  I  replied,  throwing  my 
self  into  the  saddle.  "But  you  had  better  take 
your  money  now."  And  I  dropped  a  gold  piece 
into  his  hand,  as  I  dug  my  heels  into  the  horse's 
sides  and  dashed  out  of  the  door. 

"Peace  to  the  soul  of  the  dying!"  cried  the  stable 


148  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

keeper  piously,  as  he  again  crossed  himself,  and 
settled  into  his  chair  for  a  continuation  of  his 
nap. 

As  I  rode  down  the  street,  I  could  hear  the 
clank  of  arms  and  the  marching  of  men  in  front 
of  the  hotel,  around  the  corner  on  the  other  street. 
One  square  I  rode  toward  the  sea,  then  westward 
for  four.  I  then  deemed  it  safe  to  head  for  the 
north,  in  the  direction  of  Mont  Lazarre.  Cross 
ing  the  street  of  the  plaza  and  the  Hotel  Madrid, 
I  cast  a  hurried  glance  to  the  east,  and  saw  that 
the  thoroughfare  was  filled  with  soldiers. 

"Guard  the  hotel  well,  my  men !"  I  cried  exult 
antly,  as  the  fresh  breeze  from  the  sea  filled  my 
lungs,  and  the  tingle  of  battles  to  come  coursed 
through  my  blood. 

The  good  little  horse  beneath  me  seemed  to  be 
charged  with  some  of  my  spirit;  for  he  sniffed 
the  air  joyfully,  and  broke  into  a  gallop  that  put 
five  miles  of  rough  mountain  road  between  us  and 
the  hotel  within  the  hour. 

By  and  by,  we  came  to  a  clearing,  from  which 
we  had  a  magnificent  view  of  the  city  and  the  bay. 
The  plaza  was  filled  with  marching  soldiers,  and 
a  bell  was  clanging  from  the  governor-general's 
palace. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  BATTLE  ON  THE  ROAD 

IT  WAS  mid-forenoon,  and  I  had  not  encountered 
a  person  on  the  upward  journey. 

As  I  drew  nearer  to  Mont  Lazarre's  mouth,  the 
breeze  from  the  sea  shifted  the  great  smoke  plume 
over  my  head,  and  the  horse  and  I  were  soon  cov 
ered  with  an  impalpable  coat  of  lava  dust. 

A  weird,  crooning  chorus  from  above  broke 
upon  my  ear,  and  seemed  to  approach.  Fearing 
that  it  was  some  troop  of  Voodoo  worshipers  on 
the  way  to  one  of  their  orgies,  I  forced  the  horse 
into  a  thicket  beside  the  road,  and  waited  for  the 
singers  to  pass.  Although  the  new  governor-gen 
eral's  proclamation  of  peace  and  amnesty  had 
ended  the  wholesale  butcheries  on  both  sides,  I 
deemed  it  still  unsafe  to  meet  a  considerable  num 
ber  of  the  blacks  alone ;  so  it  was  with  some  anxi 
ety  that  I  watched  for  their  coming. 

You  may  guess  my  relief,  when,  instead  of  a 

149 


150  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

fierce  band  of  warriors,  armed  with  machetes  and 
firearms,  there  emerged  from  the  narrow  road 
way  in  the  trees,  half  a  dozen  negro  women,  bear 
ing  baskets  of  bananas  and  yams  upon  their  heads. 
They  were  doubtless  on  their  way  to  the  market 
place  at  St.  Croix. 

Sallying  from  my  place  of  concealment,  I 
created  some  little  consternation  in  their  ranks, 
but  soon  reassured  them  by  holding  my  empty 
hands  aloft  and  calling  to  them  that  I  was  a 
friend.  They  answered  in  kind,  and  chattered 
volubly  when  I  asked  them  if  they  had  met  two 
white  men  riding  toward  Angeles. 

They  had  indeed  met  the  white  men,  and  the 
white  men  had  paid  them  an  unheard-of  price  for 
bananas.  One  of  the  white  men  was  red  of  hair, 
and  the  other  black. 

I  pushed  on  as  rapidly  as  possible. 

In  another  hour,  I  reached  the  shoulder  of  the 
mountain,  and,  as  I  stood  at  the  top  of  the  rise, 
could  view  the  sea  on  the  north  as  well  as  on  the 
south.  The  city  of  St.  Croix  was  a  white  patch, 
no  larger  than  half  a  button,  down  by  the  water's 
edge,  and  the  sails  of  the  biggest  ships  in  the 
harbor  were  mere  specks.  On  the  northern  coast, 
I  could  see  another  town,  much  smaller  than  St. 
Croix,  which  I  decided  must  be  Angeles. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  151 

The  beauty  of  the  scene  did  not  hold  me  long; 
for  I  felt  that  Larry's  safety — perhaps  his  very 
life — depended  on  the  speed  I  should  make.  The 
horse,  though  still  panting  from  the  long  climb, 
started  at  a  brisk  pace  on  the  downward  journey. 

After  making  about  three  miles,  I  halted  the 
horse,  and  listened;  for  I  thought  I  heard  a  dis 
tant  shot.  While  I  was  straining  my  ears  for  a 
repetition  of  the  sound,  a  series  of  screams — or, 
more  correctly,  squeaks — awoke  the  echoes  of 
the  forest  below.  Then  there  came  a  patter  of 
bare  feet;  and  a  black  boy,  clad  solely  in  a  straw 
hat,  came  dashing  up  the  incline.  The  regularity 
of  his  squeaks  and  hops  reminded  me  of  a  mechan 
ical  toy. 

The  inky  apparition  had  made  exactly  nine  hops 
and  three  squeaks  before  his  eyes  encountered  my 
figure.  The  sight  brought  him  up  suddenly,  and 
he  turned,  as  though  to  go  back  again.  But  fear, 
or  weariness,  or  both,  put  escape  out  of  his  power ; 
and  he  threw  up  his  hands,  to  collapse  in  a  little 
heap  on  the  road.  I  shouted  to  him,  but  he  made 
no  answer  or  motion ;  so  I  rode  down  to  where  he 
lay,  and  slapped  him  smartly  with  my  hat.  But 
he  still  lay  as  though  dead,  and  I  might  have  be 
lieved  him  so,  but  for  a  slight  motion  of  his  closed 
eyelids. 


152  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

"White  man  kill  black  boy  if  black  boy  does  not 
get  up,"  I  cried,  in  Spanish. 

The  black  youngster  leaped  to  his  feet,  and 
threw  himself  on  his  knees  beside  the  horse. 
"Peppit  be  good!  White  man  no  shoot!"  he 
wailed,  in  terror. 

"Well,  see  that  you  are  good,"  I  commanded. 
"Now,  tell  me  what  you  are  running  and  yelling 
for?" 

"Him  big  fight  down  there,"  he  replied,  begin 
ning  to  sob  hysterically,  and  pointing  down  the 
mountain  as  he  spoke.  "Him  big  fight.  Shoot — 
blood — machete !" 

"Who  are  fighting — white  men,  or  black  men  ?" 
I  demanded. 

"One,  two  t'ousand  white  men.  Big  fight. 
Shoot — machete — blood !"  he  cried. 

"You're  a  little  liar,"  I  exclaimed,  reaching 
down  and  shaking  him  roughly  by  the  shoulder. 
"There  aren't  a  thousand  white  men  in  Gabrielle." 

"Peppit  no  lie — Peppit  tell  truth.  Him  big 
fight,"  he  said  stubbornly. 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  me  the  truth,  you  little 
rascal,  or  will  I  have  to  use  this?"  As  I  spoke, 
I  drew  my  revolver  and  brandished  it  threaten 
ingly. 

"No  shoot,  white  man — no  shoot!"  he  yelled. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  153 

"Peppit  tell  truth  when  he  say  more  than  two 
white  men  in  big  fight.  Here  all  men  in  fight." 

He  held  up  both  hands  as  he  spoke.  The  right 
one  was  open,  with  all  the  fingers  outspread;  and 
the  left  had  only  the  index  finger  displayed. 

"There  were  six?  You  are  sure  of  that,  are 
you?"  I  asked. 

"Yes — white  men,  like  this,"  he  agreed ;  and,  as 
he  spoke,  he  seized  a  twig  that  lay  beside  the  road, 
broke  it  into  six  pieces,  and  placed  them  side  by 
side  in  the  dirt. 

"Good!"  I  exclaimed  approvingly.  "Now,  tell 
me,  Peppit — did  you  see  a  wagon  down  there 
where  the  men  were  fighting — a  thing  with 
wheels,  round,  like  this?"  I  made  a  ring  in  the 
air  with  my  fingers. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  nodding  vigorously.  "Him 
wagon  at  big  fight." 

"How  many  wheels  on  wagon?"  I  asked. 

"Round  things  like  that?  So?"  He  held  up 
two  fingers. 

"Good  boy,  Peppit!"  I  cried,  throwing  him  a 
peso.  "Go  home  now,  and  buy  yourself  some 
molasses,  or  candy,  or  whatever  you  black  kids 
like.  I'm  going  to^get  into  that  scrap,  and  make 
it  two  to  five,  instead  of  five  to  one." 

As  I  spoke,  I  dug  my  heels  into  the  horse's 


154-  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

flanks,  and  slapped  him  on  the  ears  with  my  hat. 

Down  the  road  galloped  the  animal,  every  leap 
promising  to  be  our  last ;  for  broken  pieces  of  rock 
were  strewn  thickly  upon  the  pathway,  and  here 
and  there,  deep  holes  and  ruts  had  been  worn  by 
tropic  rains.  The  game  little  saddler  must  have 
had  chamois  blood  in  his  veins ;  for  he  raced  down 
six  hundred  yards  of  treacherous  incline,  as  sure 
footed  as  a  goat,  and,  almost  before  I  had  time 
to  draw  my  revolver,  had  hurled  me  into  the  midst 
of  my  enemies. 

I  had  scant  time  to  look  at  the  tableau  presented 
upon  that  narrow  mountain  trail — scant  time  to 
see  Larry,  bound  hand  and  foot,  beside  the  road 
way,  or  to  note  the  fact  that  one  of  his  foes  was 
stretched  dead,  with  mouth  and  eyes  wide  open 
to  heaven,  while  another  lay  moaning  a  few  feet 
away,  his  face  crushed  in  as  though  from  the  kick 
of  a  mule,  and  his  head  soaking  in  a  pool  of  blood. 

With  a  shout,  I  galloped  into  that  open  slaugh 
terhouse,  shooting  as  fast  as  I  could  pull  trigger 
at  a  trio  of  Spaniards,  who  leaped  to  their  feet 
to  return  my  fire  with  a  rain  of  bullets. 

One  of  the  fellows  threw  up  his  arms  and 
pitched  forward  on  his  face  before  I  had  gone 
twenty  yards,  his  shrill  cry  proclaiming  the  fact 
that  one  of  my  bullets  had  found  a  vital  mark.  A 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  155 

second  of  the  fighting  trio  must  have  stopped  a 
projectile  with  his  leg,  for  he  dropped  like  a  crip 
pled  dog,  but  continued  shooting  from  the  ground. 

I  was  now  almost  upon  them,  and  dug  heels 
into  the  horse,  with  a  triumphant  cry,  intending 
to  ride  down  the  third  marksman,  whose  barking 
revolver  was  spitting  fire  in  my  face. 

"You  can't  hit  a  barn  door!"  I  yelled  exult- 
ingly,  and  in  another  second  my  horse's  hoofs 
would  have  ground  him  into  the  earth. 

There  was  a  crash  as  of  big  buildings  crum 
bling,  and  a  singing  in  my  ears,  such  as  I  heard 
one  day  when  I  stood  in  the  path  of  a  cyclone  and 
saw  the  havoc  wrought  by  the  monster  of  the 
air.  Then  I  knew  nothing. 

When  I  reopened  my  eyes  to  consciousness,  I 
was  pitching  and  jolting  in  a  cart,  my  hands  and 
feet  bound,  and  my  body  doubled  up  like  a  jack- 
knife.  My  head  was  splitting  with  pain,  and  I 
suffered  excruciating  agony  in  one  shoulder. 

"You  sure  put  up  a  fine  scrap,  but  why  the 
devil  did  you  butt  in  the  way  you  did?"  asked  a 
voice  at  my  elbow. 

It  was  Larry,  beside  me  in  the  cart.  One  glance 
showed  me  that  he  was  pinioned  as  I  was,  while 
above  us  on  the  seat  was  an  ugly  fellow,  who 
scowled  darkly  at  us  as  we  spoke.  Another 


156  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

Spaniard  was  walking  along  beside  the  horse. 

"Where  are  we?"  I  asked. 

"On  the  road  to  trouble,  as  near  as  I  can  make 
out,"  replied  Larry. 

"But  where's  my  horse?  They  ought  to  fetch 
him  along,  too." 

"That  horse  of  yours  is  just  now  too  full  of 
holes  for  a  pepper  box.  I  don't  see,  for  the  life 
of  me,  how  you  ever  got  as  far  as  you  did  with 
those  three  dagoes  pumping  lead  into  you." 

"Are  you  hurt?" 

"Not  much,  except  in  the  vanity  department," 
replied  Larry.  "Oh,  I  am  the  prize  mark! 
There's  no  getting  around  that  fact.  Why,  I  acted 
just  like  a  kid — walked  into  their  trap  just  as 
though  I  was  a  trained  pup !" 

"But  you  must  have  made  things  hot  for  them," 
I  said  as  soothingly  as  I  could. 

"Lots  of  good  that  did!"  he  retorted  bitterly. 
"And  lots  of  good  you  did,  too.  They  did  me  up 
to  the  queen's  taste,  and  now  they've  got  us  both. 
Why  the  devil  didn't  you  show  a  lick  or  two  of 
sense,  and  make  a  sneak  on  the  camp,  instead  of 
sailing  in  just  as  though  you  had  the  whole  United 
States  Army  at  your  back?  But,  then,  what's  the 
use  of  talking?  We're  both  too  young  and  unso 
phisticated  to  leave  our  mothers,  anyway." 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  157 

We  rode  along  in  gloomy  silence  for  a  mile  or 
two.  Every  stone  encountered  by  the  wheels  of 
the  cart  caused  us  to  groan  as  our  hurts  were 
jarred,  and  whenever  he  received  an  unusually 
severe  jolt,  Larry  would  turn  loose  upon  the 
Spaniard  a  picturesque  volley  of  American  oaths. 

"Where  do  you  suppose  they  are  taking  us?" 
I  asked,  after  a  time. 

"Back  to  St.  Croix,  I  suppose,"  replied  Larry. 
"Back  to  where  Varney  will  probably  show  his 
hand  in  some  devilish  way  or  other." 

"He's  likely  to  have  us  garrotted  in  the  public 
square,  or  order  his  soldiers  to  throw  us  from 
the  walls  of  Morro  Castle,"  I  added  cheerfully. 

"His  soldiers?"  echoed  Larry,  with  scorn.  "I'd 
like  to  know  what  soldiers  that  crook  can  mus 
ter?  All  he  can  do  is  to  work  some  dirty  under 
hand  game  with  the  governor-general,  and  he's 
quite  equal  to  that." 

"Unfortunately,  he  can  call  out  every  yellow 
coat  on  the  island,"  I  exclaimed. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about?  The 
bumps  you  got  on  your  head  must  have  knocked 
a  few  bricks  loose  in  your  upper  story."  Larry 
looked  at  me  as  though  he  really  thought  me 
crazy. 

"I  know  just  what  I  am  talking  about,"  I  con- 


158  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

tinned.  "I'd  feel  a  good  deal  better  if  I  did  not. 
Why,  don't  you  know  who  Varney  is  now?  But, 
of  course,  you  don't;  for  I  didn't  find  out  about 
it,  myself,  until  after  you  left." 

"Well,  come  out  with  it!"  cried  Larry  impa 
tiently.  "Say,  you  yellow-bellied  pirate,  if  you 
don't  drive  that  horse  more  carefully  over  these 
ruts,  I'll  bend  your  nose  to  the  back  of  your  neck 
and  hang  our  suspenders  on  it!"  The  last  part 
of  his  speech  was  delivered  to  the  Spaniard  in  the 
cart,  who  only  scowled  more  fiercely  than  ever, 
and  gave  the  horse  a  vicious  cut  with  the  whip. 

"Go  on,  Jack — go  on!"  groaned  Larry,  as  the 
wheels  struck  another  deep  rut.  "Put  me  wise  to 
the  works." 

Between  my  own  exclamations  of  pain,  I  gave 
him  as  clear  an  explanation  of  past  events  as  I 
could.  Had  the  conditions  of  travel  been  more 
pleasant,  I  should  have  enjoyed  hugely  the  chang 
ing  expressions  of  amazement,  anger,  and  self- 
reproach  that  came  to  his  face  during  the  recital. 
When  I  told  him  of  the  personal  encounter  with 
Varney  in  the  hotel,  he  chuckled  heartily. 

"Good  boy — good  boy!"  he  cried.  "I  couldn't 
have  done  it  as  well,  myself.  I'll  bet  you  made  a 
great  hit  with  the  girl,  when  you  turned  that 
trick." 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  159 

"Hit!"  I  exclaimed  derisively.  "So  much  of  a 
hit  that  she  ordered  me  from  the  room." 

"All  the  better,  my  boy,"  cried  Larry.  "Now 
you  can  be  sure  she  loves  you.  Oh,  I  know  the 
dear  creatures  like  a  book." 

"You  don't  know  Norelle,"  I  retorted.  "No 
rule  applies  to  her." 

"Now,  let  me  tell  you,  my  son" — began  Sulli 
van.  Then  he  broke  off  with :  "Well,  what  do  you 
think  of  that?" 

The  cart  came  to  a  sudden  stop,  and  the  driver 
uttered  a  loud  Spanish  oath. 

It  was  the  last  curse  his  lips  ever  framed;  for, 
like  a  gleam  of  light  through  a  riven  cloud,  a 
short-handled  spear  whizzed  through  the  air  above 
our  heads,  and  buried  itself  in  the  Spaniard's 
breast.  The  hand  he  had  raised,  to  point  a  re 
volver  in  the  direction  of  his  foe,  fell  inert  upon 
his  lap ;  but  the  other  hand  still  clutched  the  reins, 
and  stiffened  over  them  with  the  grip  of  death. 

In  another  moment,  the  road  was  filled  with 
chattering  negroes;  and  the  Spaniard  afoot  was 
overwhelmed  by  a  dozen  stalwart  blacks,  who  tied 
his  hands  behind  him  and  led  him  from  our 
sight. 

A  tall,  copper-colored  woman — whom  I  at  once 
recognized  as  the  Yellow  Queen — directed  the 


160  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

movements  of  the  negroes.  She  was  accompanied 
by  the  aged  Voodoo  priest  and  priestess — Papaloi 
and  Mamanloi — who  had  assisted  in  the  sacrificial 
ceremony  on  that  long-to-be-remembered  night 
upon  the  mountain. 

"It  needs  only  the  sweet  face  of  the  dog-man  to 
make  the  picture  complete,"  remarked  Larry,  in 
an  undertone. 

"Out  of  one  trouble,  into  another,"  I  said. 
"Now,  I'd  like  to  know  what  will  happen  to  us." 

"We'll  probably  be  eaten  alive,"  replied  Larry 
cheerfully.  "I  ought  to  be,  too,  for  making  such 
an  ass  of  myself." 

Meanwhile,  the  Yellow  Queen  had  issued  a  num 
ber  of  imperious  commands  to  her  followers,  dur 
ing  which  she  waved  her  supple  arms  frequently 
in  the  direction  of  the  volcano.  About  half  the 
crowd,  men  as  well  as  women,  hurried  up  the 
path  to  do  her  bidding,  while  the  others  remained 
as  an  escort  to  her  majesty. 

The  Yellow  Queen  came  toward  us.  "Release 
the  white  strangers,"  she  commanded,  in  Spanish. 
"If  the  dogs  of  Spain  have  made  them  prisoners, 
that  is  sufficient  to  secure  their  pardon  from  Joan 
of  Lazarre." 

"Thanks  awfully,  your  majesty,"  exclaimed 
Larry,  bowing  low  to  the  woman.  "Now,  if  you'll 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  161 

only  add  to  this  favor  a  bite  or  so  to  eat,  we'll  vote 
you  all  to  the  good." 

"You  shall  eat,  Red  Head,"  replied  the  queen. 
"You  and  your  friend,  Fair  Hair,  shall  eat  soon 
with  me.  Joan  of  Lazarre  will  be  hospitable  to 
the  Americans,  even  though  it  is  against  the  will 
of  Father  Mountain.  Hear  him!  He  is  angry 
with  his  daughter.  One  of  these  days,  he  will 
punish  her." 

A  mighty  rumbling  of  the  earth  answered  her 
words;  and  some  of  the  negroes,  terrified  at  the 
thunderous  threat,  wailed  aloud. 

"Come,"  ordered  the  queen.  "The  feast  is  be 
ing  prepared.  Fair  Hair  will  ride  with  Joan  of 
Lazarre.  Red  Head  will  walk  beside  us." 

"No,  no,"  I  objected.  "I'm  not  as  badly  hurt 
as  my  friend.  I  will  walk,  and  he  will  ride." 

"Joan  has  spoken.  You  will  ride.  Help  Joan 
into  the  cart,  Fair  Hair,"  was  her  decision ;  and  I 
obeyed,  although  I  detected  a  grin  on  Larry's  face. 
In  the  woman's  voice,  and  in  her  flashing  sloe- 
black  eyes,  there  was  a  spell  which  I  was  power 
less  to  resist.  The  hand  that  clasped  mine  when 
I  helped  her  into  the  cart  was  like  a  coal  of  fire. 

Joan  spoke  a  few  additional  words  of  command 
to  her  followers,  and  we  started  up  the  mountain 
ous  path. 


162  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

Larry  trudged  beside  the  cart,  and  the  negroes 
surrounded  and  preceded  us,  marching  to  the  time 
of  a  funereal  dirge,  droned  by  several  of  the 
men. 

As  we  proceeded  up  the  grade,  Larry  made 
several  ineffectual  efforts  to  draw  from  the  queen 
some  hint  as  to  our  destination.  To  all  of  these, 
however,  she  said : 

"Joan  acts  first,  and  talks  afterward.  Red 
Head  shall  learn  when  Joan  is  ready." 

"Well,  I  guess  that  Red  Head  doesn't  care 
where  you're  going,  old  lady,"  exclaimed  Larry, 
after  the  last  rebuff  of  this  sort.  "I  heard  some 
time  ago  that  what  you  said  'goes'  here  on  the 
island,  but  I  never  thought  till  now  that  I'd  go 
when  you  said :  'March !'  " 

Several  times  during  the  journey,  I  discovered 
the  brilliant  eyes  of  the  queen  regarding  me  fix 
edly.  They  seemed  to  bore  into  my  innermost 
heart. 

"When  will  Fair  Hair  marry  the  American 
girl?"  she  asked  suddenly,  after  we  had  gone  on 
in  silence  for  a  time. 

"I  do  not  know  that  I  shall  ever  marry  her," 
I  replied,  feeling  the  blood  mount  to  my  temples 
as  I  spoke. 

"Have  you  asked  her  to  be  your  wife?" 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  163 

"That  is  none  of  your  affair,  Joan  of  Lazarre !" 
I  retorted  angrily. 

"Perhaps  there  is  another  who  has  a  tighter 
hold  upon  her  heart  than  Fair  Hair,"  she  con 
tinued,  with  quiet  effrontery. 

"She  has  a  perfect  right  to  marry  whom  she 
pleases!"  I  blurted  out,  in  a  passion.  "I  have 
claim  neither  on  her  hand  nor  on  her  heart." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  her  what  she  wanted  to 
know  in  the  first  place?"  exclaimed  Larry.  "I'm 
beginning  to  think  the  yellow  lady  isn't  such  a 
dummy,  after  all." 

If  Joan  felt  any  elation  over  the  victory  of  her 
wit,  she  did  not  show  it;  her  face  was  as  serene 
as  the  surface  of  the  Caribbean,  which  we  were 
soon  to  view  again.  Occasionally  she  turned  her 
gaze  upon  me ;  and,  strive  as  I  might  to  overcome 
the  feeling,  I  began  to  fear  the  power  that  lay 
behind  the  brilliant  orbs  set  in  the  tawny  frame 
of  her  strange  face. 

I  noticed  that  she  wore  a  necklace  of  rubies. 
The  red  gems  seemed  to  break  into  jets  of  flame 
as  the  jolting  of  the  cart  caused  them  to  move 
about  over  her  throat  and  bosom — a  bosom  that 
would  have  shamed  no  sculptor  who  might  have 
given  it  to  his  bronze  Juno  or  marble  Venus. 

In  time,  we  reached  the  shoulder  of  the  moun- 


164  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

tain,  over  which  I  had  passed  earlier  in  the  day, 
and  again  beheld  the  northern  and  southern  pic 
tures  of  the  sunlit  sea.  Lazarre's  great  smoke 
veil  hung  directly  over  St.  Croix,  and  the  shadow 
cast  by  the  sun  seemed  to  blot  out  the  city. 

The  queen  observed  the  omen;  for  she  cried, 
waving  her  arm  at  smoke  and  town: 

"Some  day,  Father  Mountain  will  go  down  to 
crush  St.  Croix,  just  as  his  shadow  now  cuts  off 
the  light.  He  will  avenge  the  murder  of  his  chil 
dren  by  the  Spanish  devils." 

A  rumble  in  the  remote  bowels  of  the  earth — 
low,  but  distinct  and  menacing — seemed  to  an 
swer  the  prophecy.  I  shuddered  in  spite  of  my 
self,  and  glanced  at  Larry,  to  see  if  he,  too,  had 
been  touched  by  the  chill  finger  of  premonition. 

He  was  standing  with  his  elbow  resting  on  the 
cart,  and  his  eyes  lost  in  the  far  north  distance, 
as  though  trying  to  pierce  the  space  that  separated 
him  from  home.  He  started  and  changed  color. 

"It'll  be  a  bad  day  for  those  dagoes  down 
there,"  he  muttered,  "when  the  mountain  goes 
down  to  St.  Croix.  And  when  it  happens,  I'll  bet 
a  dime  that  the  yellow  girl,  here,  will  be  in  at  the 
death." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  YELLOW  QUEEN  STRIKES 

INSTEAD  of  descending  from  the  shoulder  of  the 
mountain  by  the  road  to  St.  Croix,  as  I  had 
expected  they  would,  the  negroes  turned  to  the 
west,  plunging  through  a  thicket  of  stunted 
pines. 

The  cart  was  laboriously  hauled  through  the 
trees  by  the  negroes  lending  hand  at  shafts  and 
wheels;  but  soon  the  going  was  easier,  for  we 
reached  more  open  ground,  and  discovered  traces 
of  an  abandoned  road.  After  we  had  traveled 
possibly  two  miles;  we  heard  shouts  ahead,  which 
were  immediately  answered  by  members  of  our 
own  party. 

Within  a  few  minutes,  we  came  to  what  ap 
peared  to  be  a  blank  cliff,  which  lifted  its  rocky 
face  perpendicularly  to  a  height  of  four  or  five 
hundred  feet.  We  still  heard  the  voices  that  had 
been  calling  to  us ;  and,  at  first,  I  thought  that  my 
ears  deceived  me,  for  no  human  beings  were  in 

165 


166  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

sight.  But  the  path  took  a  sudden  turn,  and, 
passing  around  a  corner,  led  into  the  yawning 
opening  of  a  cavern,  around  the  mouth  of  which 
were  grouped  half  a  hundred  negro  men  and 
women. 

The  opening  in  the  mountain  was  twenty  feet 
high,  and  fully  as  wide,  and,  inside,  its  inky  black 
ness  was  revealed  rather  than  dispelled  by  numer 
ous  flickering  yellow  lights. 

At  sight  of  us,  the  negroes  set  up  a  shout  of 
welcome,  which  the  Yellow  Queen  acknowledged 
with  a  wave  of  her  arm  and  a  word  of  greeting. 

"We  have  arrived,  Fair  Hair,"  she  exclaimed, 
turning  to  me. 

I  leaped  from  the  cart  and  helped  her  down; 
and,  when  she  had  alighted,  she  still  clung  to  my 
hand  with  her  burning  grip. 

"We  will  enter,"  she  said,  in  tones  even  more 
imperious. 

I  attempted  to  drop  her  hand;  but  she  refused 
to  release  my  fingers,  and  we  walked  into  the  cave 
side  by  side,  Larry  following  closely  at  our  heels. 

As  soon  as  my  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the 
gloom,  I  saw  that  a  long  table  had  been  set  in  the 
centre  of  the  cave.  Upon  huge  wooden  platters 
and  leaves  of  tropic  plants  was  spread  a  feast  of 
meats,  fish,  fowl,  bananas,  and  yams.  Nor  was 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  167 

liquid  refreshment  lacking;  for  in  great  earthen 
crocks  was  what  I  afterward  discovered  to  be  a 
supply  of  rum  and  native  spirits,  made  from  the 
dregs  of  the  sugar  crop. 

"Bow  to  the  queen — bow  to  the  queen!"  cho 
rused  a  hundred  voices,  and  half  a  dozen  black 
performers  began  a  crazy  medley  of  discord  upon 
native  drums  and  reed  instruments. 

Nimbly  preceding  us,  in  spite  of  their  great 
age,  Papaloi  and  Mamanloi  ran  to  the  right  side 
of  the  cave,  each  seizing  a  light  from  one  of  the 
torch  bearers. 

"The  Daughter  of  the  Mountain  is  here,"  cried 
the  old  man. 

"The  Daughter  of  the  Mountain  is  here," 
echoed  the  woman. 

All  the  negroes  in  the  gloomy  tunnel  threw 
themselves  upon  their  faces,  and,  in  answer  to  a 
signal  from  the  queen,  the  old  priest  and  priestess 
hurled  their  torches  into  a  heap  of  inflammable 
material  against  the  wall.  A  crimson  flame,  forty 
feet  long,  and  as  high  as  the  roof  of  the  cave, 
burst  forth  and  illumined  the  grotesque  scene. 

Instinctively,  I  made  a  step  as  though  to  run 
for  the  cavern's  mouth. 

"Fear  not,  Fair  Hair,"  said  the  queen,  still  hold 
ing  my  hand  with  her  fierce  grasp.  "The  flame 


168  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

is  only  a  bright  light  set  to  guide  our  hands  to 
our  mouths  at  the  feast.  It  will  not  burn." 

I  could  well  believe  her;  for,  although  we  were 
within  six  feet  of  the  great  sheet  of  flame,  I  could 
scarcely  feel  its  warmth. 

"Be  seated  here  at  my  right  hand,  Fair  Hair," 
continued  the  queen.  "And  you,  Red  Head,  take 
the  place  at  Fair  Hair's  right.  Papaloi  and 
Mamanloi  will  be  at  my  left." 

Thus  we  seated  ourselves,  with  our  backs  to  that 
weird  blaze,  which,  as  long  as  it  continued  to 
burn,  cast  our  monstrous  shadows  over  the  faces 
of  the  hungry  blacks  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
table,  and  played  strange  pranks  in  the  sooty  cor 
ners  of  the  cavern. 

"Eat,  my  children !"  cried  the  queen.  "Eat  and 
drink  of  the  bounty  which  Father  Mountain  has 
given  us.  Eat,  that  you  may  be  strong;  drink, 
that  you  may  be  full  of  courage,  to  cast  the  Span 
ish  devils  from  the  land  that  was  given  to  your 
fathers." 

A  roar  of  cheers  and  curses,  mingled  with  the 
clash  of  steel,  answered  her  words.  Many  of  the 
negroes  waved  machetes  above  their  heads,  while 
others  drew  from  their  tattered  garments  gleam 
ing  daggers  and  rusty  revolvers. 

The  warlike  demonstration  did  not  last  long, 


THE    HOUSE   ON   STILTS  169 

however;  for  in  another  moment  the  black  mob 
was  at  the  food  and  drink,  with  hoggish  eager 
ness.  They  seized  great  portions  of  meat,  tear 
ing  them  apart  with  their  white  teeth,  and  stuffed 
down  whole  yams  at  a  gulp.  The  gourds,  which 
served  as  cups  for  the  rum  and  spirits,  circulated 
with  increasing  rapidity;  and,  as  the  feast  pro 
gressed,  quarrels  and  blows  were  of  frequent 
occurrence. 

"Eat,  Fair  Hair!"  cried  the  queen,  leaning 
toward  me,  and  throwing  her  arm  around  my 
neck.  "I  would  that  my  guest  displayed  more 
appetite,." 

I  tried  to  shake  off  her  arm.  It  seemed  like  the 
coil  of  a  snake. 

"I  am  not  hungry,"  I  exclaimed,  but  poorly  dis 
guising  the  loathing  I  felt. 

"Joan  is  not  hungry,  either,  Fair  Hair,"  she 
replied,  holding  me  still  closer  with  her  bare  arm. 
"Joan  is  not  hungry  for  food.  She  is  famished 
for  love." 

"Don't  fast  on  our  account,"  said  Larry,  who 
had  overheard  only  the  first  part  of  the  Yellow 
Queen's  remarks.  "Get  busy  and  dig  in,  if  you 
want  to.  If  you  don't,  there  won't  be  enough  left 
for  you  to  put  in  a  hollow  tooth." 

Finding  that  my  efforts  to  shake  off  Joan's  arm 


170  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

were  unavailing,  I  made  no  further  protests;  for 
I  realized  that  one  word  from  her  might  bring 
serious  consequences  to  us  both. 

The  sounds  of  fighting  increased  along  the 
table  as  the  liquids  sank  in  the  earthen  jars,  and, 
more  than  once,  the  queen  was  forced  to  rap 
sharply  upon  the  board  in  front  of  her  and 
threaten  the  disturbers  with  punishment.  Now 
and  then,  one  of  the  mob,  sated  with  drink,  would 
fall  from  his  or  her  seat,  and  would  be  uncere 
moniously  kicked  aside  by  the  others.  In  this 
manner  the  ranks  were  thinned  considerably,  and 
only  those  with  stronger  heads  and  bodies  re 
mained  upright. 

"Where  is  the  dog-man?"  asked  Larry. 

It  was  an  unwise  question,  for  the  queen  re 
leased  me  long  enough  to  shake  her  finger  at  him, 
while  her  eyes  blazed  with  anger.  "He  is  here!" 
she  cried.  "Here,  and  well  enough  to  do  my  bid 
ding,  in  spite  of  the  bullet  that  you  sent  against 
him.  You  were  a  fool,  to  think  you  could  harm 
the  queen's  messenger." 

As  she  concluded,  she  pointed  toward  the  end 
of  the  table.  The  misshapen  creature  was  there 
devouring  the  mass  of  victuals  in  front  of  his 
hairy  chest.  As  we  looked,  he  uttered  an  angry 
snarl,  snatched  the  hand  of  a  woman  who  sat 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  171 

beside  him,  brought  it  to  his  mouth,  and  tore  it 
with  his  tusks. 

The  woman  uttered  a  shriek  of  pain. 

"Serves  her  right,"  cried  the  Yellow  Queen, 
with  a  laugh.  "She  should  not  be  fool  enough  to 
try  to  steal  the  dog-man's  food." 

"You  are  a  wonder!"  exclaimed  Larry,  resum 
ing  the  subject,  which  had  been  interrupted  by 
the  exhibition  of  ferocity.  "So  you  were  wise  to 
the  game  we  played,  that  night  on  the  mountain?" 

"I  know  everything  that  takes  place  on  Gabri- 
elle,"  she  retorted  boastfully,  "and  I  warn  you, 
now,  that  Joan  of  Lazarre  is  not  to  be  cheated  of 
what  is  hers  by  Red  Head  or  any  other  stranger 
from  the  north.  If  he  still  opposes  her,  she  will 
cast  a  spell  upon  him  that  will  twist  his  bones, 
turn  his  blood  to  water,  and  cause  his  flesh  to  rot 
with  leprosy." 

"Cheerful,  I  must  say,"  replied  Larry,  smiling 
in  spite  of  the  gruesome  threat,  which  sent  a 
shudder  to  my  heart.  "I'd  rather  be  friends  than 
enemies  with  you,  young  lady;  but  you  can  bet 
your  last  toad  charm  on  one  thing — and  that  is, 
when  you  start  to  chop  up  little  kids  and  I  hear 
of  it,  I'll  stop  it  if  I  can.  I  haven't  a  thing  against 
you,  personally,  but  I  must  say  I  think  you  were 
brought  up  wrong." 


172  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

Another  and  fiercer  altercation  took  place 
among  the  negroes,  at  this  time,  to  put  an  end  to 
our  conversation;  and,  as  peace  was  once  more 
restored  by  the  queen,  a  tall,  hooded  figure  stalked 
majestically  into  the  cavern  and  stood  at  the  other 
side  of  the  table,  in  front  of  Joan,  with  folded  arms. 

"Welcome  to  our  feast!"  cried  the  queen,  in 
tones  more  respectful  than  I  had  ever  heard  her 
use.  "Be  seated  with  us,  Dumb  Brother.  We 
welcome  you." 

The  stranger  bowed,  and  silently  took  seat  in 
front  of  us.  During  the  remainder  of  the  meal,  I 
felt  his  eyes  peering  steadily  at  me  from  beneath 
bushy  brows.  He  was  a  man  of  perhaps  fifty, 
with  a  face  scarred  by  smallpox,  as  nearly  as  I 
could  discern ;  but  he  kept  his  hood  so  far  over  his 
eyes,  and  his  chin  so  deeply  buried  in  the  folds  of 
his  gown,  that  it  was  impossible  to  gain  a  fair 
view  of  his  features.  Once,  I  tried  to  engage  him 
in  conversation;  but,  as  he  only  shook  his  head, 
I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was,  indeed,  with 
out  power  of  speech.  He  partook  of  but  little  re 
freshment,  only  occasionally  tasting  a  banana, 
and  did  not  touch  the  liquors. 

Old  Papaloi  and  Mamanloi  kept  the  crimson 
flame  behind  us  burning  to  the  end  of  the  meal. 
As  the  last  of  the  meats  disappeared,  the  queen 


THE    HOUSE   ON   STILTS  173 

arose  from  her  seat  and  stretched  her  arms  out 
over  her  people. 

"The  time  has  come,"  she  cried,  "when  the  chil 
dren  of  the  mountain  shall  drive  the  Spaniards 
from  Gabrielle.  Too  long  have  they  been  allowed 
to  kill  our  people;  too  long  have  we  been  faint 
hearted.  We  must  strike  at  once,  or  suffer  the 
anger  of  Father  Mountain.  Even  as  we  wait,  like 
cowards,  the  sacred  fires  in  our  father's  heart  are 
being  kindled.  A  few  more  days,  and  he  will 
send  them  to  sweep  us  into  the  sea.  Is  that  not 
so,  Father  Mountain?" 

A  deep  rumble  came  from  the  bowels  of  the 
earth  in  direct  answer  to  the  queen,  and  I  felt  my 
blood  go  chill  at  the  omen.  Surely,  this  awful 
woman  must  have  command  over  the  sleeping 
volcano;  for  did  it  not  speak  when  she  willed? 
Had  it  not  been  silent,  and  then,  at  her  command, 
had  it  not  replied? 

"It  is  so,  O  queen.  Kill  the  Spanish  devils!" 
shrieked  the  drunken  negroes. 

Machetes,  daggers,  and  firearms  were  again 
drawn  and  brandished  in  air.  A  score  of  the 
blacks  began  a  diabolical  dance  at  the  end  of  the 
cave,  the  women  joining  with  the  men  in  per 
forming  wild  gyrations,  keeping  time,  the  while, 
with  an  uncanny  Carib  song. 


174  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

"What  must  we  do  to  turn  away  our  father's 
anger?"  cried  the  queen. 

"Give  him  blood !"  screamed  Papaloi  and  Mam- 
anloi. 

"Whose  blood?" 

"White  man's  blood!"  yelled  priest  and  priest 
ess. 

"What  else  do  Papaloi  and  Mamanloi  read  in 
the  signs  from  the  mountain?"  asked  the  queen. 

"The  signs  say  that  Joan  of  Lazarre  must  take 
a  mate,"  spoke  the  old  man.  "Father  Mountain 
says  she  must  not  give  the  blood  sacrifices  alone." 

"Whom  shall  she  marry?"  asked  the  queen. 

"A  white  man,  not  of  the  evil  Spanish  blood," 
replied  the  priestess.  "One  who  has  not  been  long 
in  the  land." 

"Then  here  I  choose!"  cried  the  yellow  woman, 
suddenly  turning  upon  me,  and  again  throw 
ing  her  snakelike  arm  about  my  neck.  "This 
fair-headed  man  shall  be  the  lord  of  Joan  of 
Lazarre.  To-day  we  saved  him  from  the  Spanish 
devils.  To-morrow  he  will  help  us  destroy  them 
all." 

I  struggled  to  my  feet,  anger,  dismay,  disgust, 
humiliation,  and  amazement  struggling  for  ex 
pression.  My  throat  seemed  to  be  paralyzed,  and 
I  could  not  speak  above  a  whisper.  But  I  shook 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  175 

my  head  with  all  the  determination  and  emphasis 
that  I  could  put  into  such  primitive  action. 

"Then  you  love  another!"  she  cried,  her  voice 
shrilling  with  anger.  "You  love  the  doll-faced 
daughter  of  the  bearded  American." 

"If  you  know  everything,  why  ask  for  light 
from  me?"  I  cried.  "I  do  love  another,  and  I 
intend  to  marry  her,  if  I  live." 

The  moment  after,  I  wished  that  I  had  torn  out 
my  tongue  before  uttering  those  words. 

"You  shall  live,  but  you  shall  never  marry  her !" 
cried  the  Yellow  Queen,  rising  to  her  feet,  and 
striking  the  table  a  blow  with  her  clenched  fist. 
"You  shall  not  marry  her,  because  you  shall  marry 
me  to-morrow,  and  she  shall  be  here  to  witness 
the  ceremony.  I  shall  send  for  her." 

"I  will  not  marry  you,  and  she  will  not  come  at 
your  bidding,"  I  retorted,  now  half  beside  myself 
with  rage.  "And,  what  is  more,  I  give  you  warn 
ing  that  you  had  best  leave  all  American  citizens 
alone.  We  are  not  harming  you,  and  you  will 
regret  the  day  that  you  laid  hands  on  any  of  us. 
Don't  think  you  are  playing  with  poor,  old  crip 
pled  Spain." 

The  queen  laughed  shrilly.  "I  care  not  for 
America,"  she  cried,  snapping  her  fingers  dis 
dainfully.  "Let  them  come  with  their  soldiers, 


176  THE    HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

and  Father  Mountain  will  burn  them  up ;  let  them 
come  by  the  thousands,  and  the  sea  shall  swallow 
them.  What  Joan  of  Lazarre  says,  she  means. 
She  will  marry  you  to-morrow,  Fair  Hair;  and 
the  pale-cheeked  girl  at  the  Hotel  Madrid  shall 
be  here  to  dance  at  the  wedding.  I  will  send  the 
dog-man  for  her;  and,  after  we  are  married,  the 
dog-man  shall  have  her." 

"What!"  I  cried,  in  horror.  "You  will  do  noth 
ing  of  the  sort.  You  cannot  get  her,  anyway ;  for 
the  soldiers  of  the  governor-general  are  guarding 
the  hotel,  and  your  evil  messenger  will  only  meet 
his  death." 

"Did  the  messenger  I  sent  to  the  last  governor- 
general  fail  me?"  sneered  the  queen.  "  'Go  to  St. 
Croix/  I  said  to  him,  'and  strangle  his  excellency 
in  his  bed.'  Did  the  guards  and  the  doors  and  the 
bolts  save  his  clean  throat?  His  faithful  sen 
tinels  found  him,  the  next  morning,  with  his  eyes 
open  and  his  tongue  out  of  his  mouth. 

"Did  the  messenger  fail  that  I  sent  to  the  prose 
cutor  and  the  chief  judge,  and  to  Colonel  Aguilas? 
To-morrow,  after  our  wedding,  I  will  send  for 
General  Bolero;  for  I  hear  that  he  is  like  to  lose 
his  wits  from  fear.  I  wish  him  to  possess  all  his 
little  brains  when  he  faces  the  god  of  the  moun 
tain.  So,  you  see,  Joan  of  Lazarre  makes  no 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  177 

threats  she  cannot  fulfill.  She  will  have  the  doll- 
faced  girl  here  in  time  for  the  wedding,  and  the 
dog-man  who  gets  her  for  me  shall  have  her  as 
his  reward." 

"What  has  the  poor  girl  done  to  you?"  I  cried, 
in  desperation.  "She  has  never  harmed  a  living 
being.  Surely,  you  cannot  have  the  heart  to  do 
such  a  terrible  deed  as  that.  What  you  do  to  me 
is  of  little  consequence.  Have  mercy  on  that  inno 
cent  child." 

"Innocent  child — faugh!"  cried  the  queen. 
"She  is  no  child,  who  can  rob  Joan  of  Lazarre  of 
the  love  she  demands.  She  is  a  woman  grown, 
with  all  a  woman's  wiles  and  tricks ;  and  she  shall 
pay  in  full  for  winning  that  which  is  Joan's  by 
right.  If  she  will  not  live  with  the  dog-man  after 
she  is  married  to  him,  she  shall  be  given  as  a  sac 
rifice  to  Father  Mountain.  But  the  dog-man  shall 
have  her  first." 

"But  she  does  not  love  me — she  loves  another !" 
I  exclaimed,  hoping  by  this  plea  to  change  the 
cruel  woman's  mind. 

"But  you  love  her?" 

I  stammered  a  denial. 

"The  blood  in  your  temples  betrays  you,  and 
proves  you  a  liar.  It  also  seals  her  fate." 

"Have  a  care!"  cried  Larry.    "That  girl  is  the 


178  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

daughter  of  the  American  consul,  a  powerful  offi 
cial;  and,  if  you  harm  her,  a  thousand  soldiers 
will  be  sent  to  wipe  out  Voodooism  as  with  a 
sponge." 

"France  sent  her  legions  to  Santo  Domingo  and 
Gabrielle  three  hundred  years  ago,"  retorted  the 
queen.  "They  too,  came  to  'sweep  Voodooism  into 
the  sea.'  What  became  of  those  soldiers?  They 
did  not  return  to  France.  But  Voodooism  sur 
vived.  I  have  decided,  I  tell  you.  The  man  with 
bark  like  a  dog  shall  get  the  girl."  With  that,  she 
clapped  her  hands,  and  uttered  a  sharp  command 
in  a  guttural  tongue. 

As  she  finished  speaking,  the  hideous,  hairy 
monster  at  the  other  end  of  the  table  arose  to  his 
feet,  displayed  his  white  tusks  in  a  frightful  grin, 
and  slunk  from  the  cave. 

As  with  one  impulse,  Larry  and  I  leaped  to  our 
feet.  Before  we  could  take  a  stride  toward  the 
entrance — before  we  could  put  hand  on  pistol  grip 
— we  were  surrounded  by  a  swarm  of  blacks, 
were  thrown  to  the  rocky  floor  of  the  cavern,  and, 
within  the  space  of  half  a  minute,  found  ourselves 
tied  hand  and  foot.  Larry  swore  a  string  of  oaths 
that  would  have  incited  a  mob  to  violence  in  any 
white  man's  country,  but  neither  the  queen  nor  her 
followers  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  his  tirade. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  179 

"If  we  could  only  get  some  word  to  the  Pier- 
sons!"  I  exclaimed.  "They  might  be  prepared 
for  the  yellow  woman's  messenger." 

"Perhaps  the  dumb  monk  will  carry  a  message 
for  us,"  suggested  Larry;  but  the  words  were 
scarcely  out  of  his  mouth  before  he  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  dismay. 

The  dumb  monk  was  gone. 

Neither  of  us  had  seen  the  mysterious  stranger 
leave;  and,  as  the  queen  at  that  moment  issued 
an  order  which  sent  a  score  of  blacks  running 
from  the  cave,  I  believe  that  his  sudden  dis 
appearance  caused  her  some  uneasiness,  too. 

"God  grant  that  he  has  gone  to  warn  them!" 
I  exclaimed;  and  Larry  added:  "Amen  to  that." 

The  negroes  kept  up  their  drinking  for  an  hour 
or  two  after  we  had  been  made  prisoners;  and, 
long  after  the  final  vestige  of  meat  had  disap 
peared,  they  continued  gnawing  the  bones  and 
sucking  the  dregs  of  the  rum  crocks.  The  number 
of  drunken  forms  upon  the  floor  increased;  and, 
being  no  longer  fed  by  the  old  priest  and  priest 
ess,  the  fire  at  our  backs  died  down  to  a  long  bed 
of  smoldering  embers,  which  sent  up  only  infre 
quent  red  flames,  to  fill  the  corners  of  the  cave 
with  splotches  of  blood. 

Finally,  the  Yellow  Queen  herself  prepared  to 


180  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

retire.  "You  shall  learn  to  love  me,"  she  said, 
leaning  over  and  placing  her  hot  cheek  against 
mine.  "You  shall  drink  of  a  love  potion  that  will 
make  you  forget  the  world,  and  remember  only 
Joan.  Good  night,  my  king,  niy  lord — good 
night." 

She  went  to  a  far  corner  of  the  cave,  and  I  could 
see  her  there,  outstretched  in  the  dim  light  cast 
by  the  flickering  torches.  For  two  hours,  I 
watched  her  fearfully,  not  daring  to  go  to  sleep. 
I  could  see,  or  thought  I  could  see,  her  eyes  shin 
ing  through  the  gloom  like  the  fiery  orbs  of  a 
tiger,  waiting  for  his  prey  to  close  its  eyes.  At 
last,  sheer  exhaustion  forced  my  eyelids  shut. 

Larry  was  kicking  me  with  his  pinioned  feet 
when  I  again  returned  to  consciousness.  "Be 
aisy  and  quiet,"  he  whispered,  as  I  opened  my 
eyes,  "and  push  that  machete  over  this  way." 

By  the  light  of  the  dying  fire,  I  could  make  out 
the  shape  of  a  long-bladed  knife  near  my  feet. 
With  infinite  caution,  lest  I  make  a  noise  that 
would  bring  the  negroes  upon  me,  I  pushed  it  over 
in  Larry's  direction.  It  finally  reached  a  point 
where  he  could  make  use  of  it ;  and,  in  the  course 
of  another  minute,  he  had  managed  to  cut  the 
bonds  that  held  his  hands.  Then  he  released  his 
feet,  and  crawled  stealthily  over  to  my  side. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  181 

"The  whole  bunch  is  asleep,"  he  whispered,  as 
he  went  to  work  to  free  me.  "Now  is  our  chance 
to  make  our  break  for  the  open." 

"But  the  queen  is  watching  us,"  I  objected,  with 
the  memory  of  those  terrible  eyes  still  burning 
into  my  brain. 

"Not  so  that  you  can  notice  it,"  he  replied,  with 
confidence.  "I've  been  watching  her;  and  she's 
been  asleep,  good  and  sound,  for  more  than  an 
hour.  We  can  crawl  and  roll  out  of  this  place, 
just  as  easy  as  you  please." 

"Suppose  they  wake?"  I  asked. 

"Then  it  may  be  a  case  of  fight,"  he  replied. 
"But  a  quiet  getaway  beats  spilling  blood,  every 
time.  Hello!  What's  this?" 

Uttering  a  suppressed  exclamation  of  surprise, 
Larry  picked  a  piece  of  white  paper  from  the 
floor. 

"It's  got  writing  on  it,"  he  continued,  as  he 
tried  to  read  it.  "But  I'm  hanged  if  I  can  make 
it  out.  We'll  look  it  over  later.  In  the  meantime, 
say  good  night  to  your  yellow  lady  friend,  and 
let's  get  a  move  on." 

Alternately  rolling  and  crawling,  we  made  for 
the  entrance,  and  had  almost  reached  the  goal 
when,  unluckily,  my  hand  fell  upon  the  upturned 
face  of  a  sleeping  black  man.  His  jaws  closed 


182  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

like  a  steel  trap;  and,  as  his  teeth  met  in  the 
fleshy  part  of  my  hand,  I  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  pain. 

My  cry  was  echoed  by  a  dozen  screeches — one, 
high  pitched  above  the  rest,  coming  from  the  Yel 
low  Queen,  whom  we  could  see  dashing  toward 
us  through  the  gloom. 

Larry  and  I  leaped  to  our  feet,  and  ran  with  all 
speed  for  the  entrance.  Two  black  men  arose,  to 
block  our  flight,  and  we  dropped  them  with  blows 
of  our  fists.  Several  pistol  shots  were  fired  in  our 
direction,  but  all  went  wild;  and  we  dashed,  un 
harmed,  out  of  the  cave. 

A  dozen  negroes,  carrying  torches,  staggered 
out  of  the  cavern  in  our  wake ;  but  all  were  stupid 
from  drink  and  sleep,  and  we  were  soon  able  to 
leave  them  far  behind.  The  Yellow  Queen,  prob 
ably  the  only  sober  one  in  the  crew,  followed  us 
for  a  few  hundred  yards,  with  arms  waving  and 
voice  uplifted ;  but  she  was  no  match  for  us  as  en 
durance  runners,  and  soon  fell  hopelessly  to  the 
rear. 

To  put  our  enemies  as  far  behind  us  as  possible, 
we  kept  up  a  brisk  pace  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
before  we  sat  down  for  a  rest. 

"Now,  what  on  earth  shall  we  do?"  I  asked,  as 
the  discouragement  of  our  position  suddenly 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  183 

overwhelmed  me.  "I  suppose  we've  got  to  make 
for  St.  Croix  with  all  possible  speed,  dangerous 
as  such  a  proceeding  will  be?" 

"We  sure  have,"  agreed  Larry.  "We've  got  to 
go  and  save  that  little  girl  from  the  dog-man,  or 
die  in  the  trying.  Damn  his  skin!  I'll  bet  the 
next  time  I  plant  a  bullet  in  him,  he'll  know  he's 
been  hit." 

"We  might  go  into  town  disguised  as  Span 
iards,"  I  suggested. 

"Or  we  might  go  to  some  second-hand  store 
and  buy  an  old  sailor's  suit  or  two.  We  might 
make  up  as  pretty  good  Dutch  sailors,  don't  you 
think?" 

"You'd  make  a  fine  Dutch  sailor,  with  that  map 
of  Ireland  that  you're  carrying  about,"  I  laughed. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  exclaimed  Larry,  beginning- 
of  a  sudden  to  search  his  pockets,  "I  think  I'll 
take  a  peep  at  that  bit  of  paper  that  I  found  back 
there  in  the  cave." 

He  found  the  white  slip,  and  I  held  a  match 
over  his  shoulder  while  he  read  it. 

"It's  English,  or  I'm  a  lobster!"  he  cried;  then 
he  whistled  softly,  and  handed  the  paper  to  me, 
lighting  a  match  in  his  turn,  so  that  I  might  read 
the  following  message: 

"You  will  find  her  at  the  House  on  Stilts." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  HOUSE  ON  STILTS 

LARRY  and  I  stared  blankly  at  each  other  through 
the  gloom. 

"Why !"  I  cried.    "The  House  on  Stilts  is  the—" 

"The  monastery  of  the  dumb  monks!"  he  ex 
claimed,  finishing  the  sentence  for  me. 

"How  the  mischief  could  she  get  there?"  I 
asked,  my  brain  in  a  whirl  of  perplexity  over  the 
strange  turn  of  affairs. 

"Easy  enough,"  replied  Sullivan  briskly.  "It's 
just  as  transparent  as  glass.  Old  Brother  Mum, 
at  the  feast  in  the  cave,  wrote  the  message  to  us. 
He  saw  the  way  things  were  going,  and  beat  a 
quiet  sneak  to  the  door  when  no  one  was  looking, 
and  got  away  unnoticed  during  the  excitement. 
He  must  have  had  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  start  of 
the  dog-man;  and,  as  he  probably  knows  the 
mountain  paths  just  as  well,  if  not  better,  he  will 
beat  him  to  the  hotel.  Dumb  as  he  is,  he'll  prob- 

184 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  185 

ably  be  able  to  convince  the  general  and  Mrs. 
Pierson  that  the  safest  place  for  the  girl  is  in  the 
monastery.  Once  inside  the  House  on  Stilts,  all 
the  Voodoos  in  the  West  Indies  couldn't  get  her; 
and  she'll  be  as  safe  as  if  she  were  in  the  White 
House  at  Washington." 

"I  hope  your  theory  is  correct,"  I  said  doubt 
fully. 

"It  isn't  a  theory  at  all — it's  a  fact,"  retorted 
Larry.  "I  haven't  been  on  the  detective  force  for 
five  years  for  nothing.  Now,  it's  a  case  of  hike 
to  the  House  on  Stilts  for  us.  We  haven't  any 
business  at  St.  Croix  yet  a  while.  I  judge  you'd 
like  to  see  a  certain  young  lady  before  doing  any 
thing  else." 

"You're  a  good  judge,  Larry,"  I  replied  grate 
fully. 

Neither  of  us  knew  the  exact  location  of  the 
House  on  Stilts;  and  all  that  we  had  to  guide  us 
at  first  was  the  vague  direction  of  "over  yonder," 
or  "up  in  the  mountains,"  that  we  had  heard  since 
our  arrival  on  the  island.  But  we  knew  the  gen 
eral  direction  in  which  the  monastery  lay,  and  set 
off  north  by  west. 

The  stars  and  the  moon  guided  our  footsteps 
quite  clearly ;  and,  after  walking  an  hour  or  more 
through  the  region  of  stunted  pines,  we  struck  a 


186  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

well-defined  trail  which,  luckily,  led  in  the  direc 
tion  we  wished  to  take,  and  we  made  more  rapid 
progress. 

We  trudged  on  until  morning;  and  as  the  sun 
blazed  over  the  hills,  we  met  a  native  who  agreed 
to  guide  us  to  a  point  whence  we  could  view  the 
monastery.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  lead  you  over 
the  toilsome  path  we  followed  all  that  day.  Suffice 
it  to  say,  that,  an  hour  before  the  sun  dropped 
over  the  smoking  crest  of  Mont  Lazarre,  we  came 
to  the  edge  of  a  valley  which  brought  us  in  sight 
of  the  House  on  Stilts. 

The  valley  was,  possibly,  three  miles  across; 
and  the  monastery,  situated  at  the  other  side, 
looked  like  a  doll's  house  on  straws.  Its  walls  and 
gables,  glistening  in  the  slant  rays  of  the  sun, 
showed  white  as  marble  against  the  black  bulk  of 
the  cliff,  that  rose  hundreds  of  feet  above  its  roof. 
The  timbers  supporting  the  house  against  the 
wall  of  rock  had  their  footing  in  the  dense  jungle 
at  the  mountain's  base.  Even  at  that  distance, 
the  monastery  looked  large  enough  to  house  an 
army. 

"So  far,  so  good,  Menelik,"  said  Larry,  address 
ing  the  black  guide,  as  the  latter  stopped  short. 
"Why  don't  you  go  ahead?" 

The  negro  shook  his  head.    "Valley  belong  to 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  187 

Sun  God  and  men  without  tongues,"  he  said. 
"Yellow  Queen's-  people — him  no  go  there." 

"You  don't  say!"  exclaimed  Larry.  "So  there 
are  other  spook  raisers  on  the  island  besides  your 
old  yellow  girl?  Well,  if  you  quit,  you  quit,  I  sup 
pose.  Still,  as  long  as  you've  brought  us  within 
sight  of  the  bungalow  we're  looking  for,  I  guess 
I'll  have  to  pay  you  off,  and  let  you  go." 

The  guide  was  paid,  and  quickly  slipped  out  of 
sight  on  the  back  trail.  Larry  and  I  then  plunged 
into  the  valley. 

It  proved  to  be  a  longer  walk  than  either  of  us 
had  imagined;  and  it  was  rapidly  growing  dark 
when  we  toiled  up  the  narrow  pathway  leading  to 
the  cliff,  against  which  was  propped  the  house 
of  mystery.  We  had  encountered  no  one  on  our 
journey  through  the  valley;  and,  as  we  now  looked 
upward  at  the  monastery,  we  could  detect  no  sign 
of  life  about  its  silent  walls. 

No  smoke  rose  from  its  roof,  and  no  sound 
came  down  from  its  inner  regions.  It  seemed 
still  as  the  tomb,  and,  had  we  not  known  that  the 
black  shadow  we  were  regarding  had  been  placed 
there  by  human  hands,  we  might  well  have  be 
lieved  it  part  of  the  dark  cliff  that  towered  above 
us.  As  nearly  as  we  could  estimate,  the  monastery 
was  planted  on  a  platform  fully  two  hundred  feet 


188  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 


above  the  ground.  It  was  a  two-story  structure, 
provided  with  numerous  windows  and  gables,  and 
was  a  rectangle  of  about  two  hundred  feet  long 
by  fifty  feet  wide. 

After  we  had  quenched  our  thirst  from  a  bub 
bling  stream  which  poured  from  the  base  of  the 
cliff,  we  surveyed  our  surroundings,  with  a  view 
to  reaching  the  monastery. 

Larry  shook  his  head  dubiously.  "Were  you 
ever  a  sailor?"  he  asked. 

"I  sailed  across  the  Gulf,"  I  replied. 

"Well,"  he  continued,  "unless  you're  a  mighty 
fine  climber,  I  don't  see  how  you  are  ever  going 
to  shin  up  those  big  posts." 

"They'll  be  hard  climbing,"  I  replied,  "for 
they're  bigger  than  telegraph  poles." 

"It  looks  plumb  hopeless  to  me,"  decided  Sulli 
van,  after  we  had  walked  the  entire  length  of  the 
forest  of  posts,  and  had  examined  every  one,  in 
the  vain  hope  of  finding  a  ladder.  All  the  posts 
were  smooth  as  the  wear  of  years  could  make 
them,  and,  until  they  reached  a  point  sixty  feet 
above  our  heads,  where  the  first  crosspieces  were 
laid,  offered  not  the  slightest  foothold  for  a 
climber. 

"Hello — hello!"  cried  Larry,  at  last.  "Monas 
tery  ahoy!  Hello!" 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  189 

His  voice  was  echoed  back  from  some  far-dis 
tant  rock,  but  no  sign  came  from  the  abode 
above. 

"I  guess  the  house  is  for  rent,"  said  Larry,  in 
disgust.  "Guess  we'll  have  to  go  downtown  and 
see  the  agent,  to  get  the  keys." 

As  we  stood  peering  up  at  the  black  block 
above,  a  smaller  fragment  of  darkness  seemed  to 
separate  itself  from  the  mass  and  come  gradually 
toward  the  earth. 

Larry  saw  the  thing  at  the  same  time  that  I 
did,  but  was  evidently  equally  at  a  loss  for  an 
explanation. 

When  the  object  had  descended  to  a  point  some 
thirty  feet  above  the  earth,  we  saw  that  it  was  a 
boatswain's  swing  chair.  When  it  settled  to  the 
ground,  we  found  that  it  was  suspended  by  a 
chain  of  brass. 

"Hello,  up  there!"  cried  Larry,  as  the  chair 
came  to  a  stop  and  the  chain  tightened.  "Do  you 
want  us  to  come  up  ?  Shall  we  get  in  ?" 

No  reply  came  to  his  question.  Only  the  echoes 
answered  mockingly  from  the  distant  cliff. 

"They're  evidently  not  wasting  words  on  stran 
gers,  up  there,"  observed  Larry.  "But  then,  come 
to  think  of  it,  how  can  they,  if  they're  dumb  ?  If 
we  get  up  there,  we'll  have  one  consolation — we'll 


190  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

not  be  talked  to  death,  no  matter  what  else  may 
happen  to  us." 

"Shall  we  get  in?"  I  asked,  dubiously  survey 
ing  the  chair,  which  now  swung  a  couple  of  feet 
from  the  ground. 

"Sure,"  replied  Sullivan.  "You'll  never  be 
h'isted  by  an  elevator  when  you're  outside  of  it." 

"But  there's  scarcely  room  for  two,"  I  objected, 
the  coward  within  me  prompting  the  words. 
"Besides  that,  it  doesn't  seem  to  me  as  if  the  chain 
was  very  strong." 

"That's  true,"  he  assented  briskly,  seating  him 
self  in  the  chair.  "I  really  don't  believe  it  would 
lift  more  than  a  ton."  Then  he  called  aloft :  "Hey, 
up  there — heave  ahead !  All  set." 

There  came  no  answering  call  from  above ;  but, 
slowly,  the  brass  links  strained,  a  faint  creaking 
was  heard  aloft,  and  Larry  began  to  ascend 
through  the  gloom. 

"Good-by,  old  fellow!"  I  cried,  as  his  figure  was 
lost  in  the  darkness  overhead.  "I'll  join  you  next 
trip.  Sing  out  when  you  get  to  the  top." 

"Don't  know  if  they  allow  singing  in  that 
church  up  there,  but  I'll  holler,  anyway,"  he  re 
plied. 

The  three  or  four  minutes  that  elapsed  before 
I  heard  his  voice  again  seemed  an  hour.  With 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  191 

the  regularity  of  clockwork,  there  sounded  the 
creaking  of  the  windlass  that  was  hauling  up  the 
chair;  and  from  afar  off  in  the  jungle  came  the 
fretful,  querulous  cry  of  some  creature — but 
whether  human,  beast,  or  fowl,  I  could  not  deter 
mine.  High  above  the  hills  beyond  the  valley  tow 
ered  the  cone  of  Mont  Lazarre,  still  faintly  gray 
from  the  last  efforts  of  the  sun.  The  smoke  from 
the  volcano  rose  heavenward  in  the  breathless  air ; 
and  so  black  it  was,  and  so  sharply  defined  against 
the  lighter  sky,  that  it  looked  like  another  moun 
tain,  inverted  and  balanced  over  the  crater. 

"All  right,  up  here."  Larry's  welcome  tones 
came  floating  down  from  the  great  height. 

It  seemed  another  age  before  the  bo's'n's  chair 
descended  again. 

I  seated  myself,  and  cried,  in  tones  as  brave  as 
I  could  muster:  "Heave  away!" 

The  chair  tightened;  my  feet  swung  clear  of 
the  ground ;  and  I  gripped  the  links  on  either  side, 
shutting  my  eyes,  meanwhile,  to  hide  the  sight  of 
the  lowering  treetops  and  the  deepening  chasm. 
The  creaking  sound  above  my  head  grew  louder 
and  louder,  and  I  began  counting,  to  distract  my 
mind  from  my  body's  peril.  Once,  when  I  took  a 
momentary  glance  at  my  surroundings,  I  almost 
fainted  to  find  the  chair  whirling  and  swinging. 


192  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

The  view  of  crisscrossed  beams  on  one  side  and 
yawning  space  on  the  other  made  me  sick;  and  I 
began  to  count  once  more,  with  a  frantic  resolve 
not  to  lose  my  presence  of  mind  and  relinquish 
my  hold  on  the  chains.  I  had  reached  three  hun 
dred  in  this  desperate  attempt  to  regain  my  men 
tal  poise,  when  a  cheery  voice,  almost  at  my  elbow, 
exclaimed : 

"Fine  and  dandy!  You  are  a  sailor,  after 
all." 

Opening  my  eyes,  I  found  that  the  chair  was 
swinging  three  feet  above  what  appeared  to  be 
the  dooryard  of  the  monastery.  It  was  consider 
ably  lighter  than  it  had  been  down  below,  and  I 
could  easily  make  out  a  low  fence  running  round 
the  border  of  the  inclosure.  The  last  glimmer  of 
twilight  faintly  outlined  the  walls  and  openings 
of  the  structure,  and  revealed  above  my  head  the 
shape  of  a  huge  crane,  which  had  swung  my  chair 
clear  from  the  chasm  and  over  the  monastery 
yard. 

Larry  and  I  were  the  only  persons  within  the 
inclosure. 

"Where  are  the  monks?"  I  asked,  in  wonder 
ment;  for  I  had  expected  to  find  a  numerous  com 
pany  of  the  silent  brotherhood. 

"You  can  search  me ;  I  haven't  any  of  'em  con- 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  193 

cealed  in  my  pocket,"  replied  Larry.  "You  see 
now  as  much  as  I've  seen.  When  I  landed,  the 
old  apparatus  up  there  started  itself  going  again, 
went  down  after  you,  brought  you  up — and  here 
we  are." 

"We  must  find  Norelle,"  I  exclaimed.  "As  far 
as  we  are  concerned,  we  are  evidently  safe  enough, 
for  the  present ;  but  we  are  not  so  sure  about  her." 

"If  she's  here,  you  bet  we'll  find  her,"  replied 
Larry.  "All  there  is  to  do  is  to  hunt." 

But  we  soon  discovered,  to  our  keen  disappoint 
ment,  that  our  search  was  to  be  bounded  by  very 
narrow  limits.  Opening  upon  the  yard  at  the 
front  of  the  house  were  six  doors,  and  all  but  one 
of  these  were  closed  against  us. 

Entering  the  only  open  door,  Larry  struck  a 
match,  and  revealed  a  small  apartment,  possibly 
twelve  feet  square,  containing  nothing  but  two 
bunks.  There  was  a  door  leading  from  this  room 
into  the  interior  of  the  monastery,  but  it  was  shut 
and  fastened  securely  on  the  other  side. 

At  first,  Larry  was  for  attacking  this  door  with 
the  machete  he  had  brought  from  the  Voodoo 
cave,  but  he  abandoned  the  notion  at  the  first 
stroke  upon  the  solid  wood.  "I  might  work  a  week 
without  making  an  impression  upon  this  door!" 
he  exclaimed,  in  disgust. 


194  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

"The  only  thing  to  do  is  to  wait  for  daylight, 
unless  we  return  to  the  earth  by  the  way  we 
came,"  I  said. 

"We'll  do  well  at  that  job,"  replied  Larry.  "The 
fellows  that  run  the  elevator  have  moved  it  out  of 
reach  and  shut  down  the  power." 

Sullivan  was  right.  The  crane  had  picked  up 
the  bo's'n's  chair  again;  and  now  it  hung  sus 
pended  over  the  abyss,  far  beyond  the  reach  of 
our  hands.  Even  supposing  that  we  could  have 
laid  hold  of  the  chair,  we  could  have  done  nothing 
with  it,  without  control  of  the  unseen  mechanism 
which  caused  the  drum  to  turn  and  pay  out  or 
take  in  the  chain. 

"I  don't  know  when  I've  felt  so  much  like  a 
weak,  sick  kitten,"  exclaimed  Larry  bitterly. 
"Here  we  are,  like  helpless  children,  crying  to  be 
let  into  the  house,  and  nobody  will  come  to  open 
the  door!  Why,  any  second-story  worker  ought 
to  turn  the  trick,  or  get  out  of  the  business." 

"We  might  get  into  one  of  the  second-story 
windows,"  I  suggested. 

"Yes,  we  might,  if  we  had  a  ladder  and  an  axe," 
growled  Sullivan.  "If  you'll  find  the  ladder  and 
chopper,  I'll  do  the  rest." 

We  made  another  trip  around  the  building,  try 
ing  each  door,  and  finding  them  all  as  unyielding 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  195 

as  the  rock  against  which  the  monastery  was 
built. 

"They  evidently  want  these  two  kids  to  be  good 
and  go  to  bed  early,"  cried  Larry,  in  disgust, 
after  we  had  exhausted  all  our  ingenuity  in  vain 
efforts  to  enter  the  forbidden  doors.  "I  give  up. 
I'm  beat,  and  I  admit  it." 

"Things  will  look  better  by  daylight,"  I  said, 
more  hopefully  than  I  felt. 

"Or  worse,"  added  Sullivan. 

"But  Norelle!"  I  exclaimed.  "What  about  her? 
Is  she  safe  here  at  the  monastery,  under  the  pro 
tection  of  the  monks ;  or  is  it  possible  that  she  is 
even  now  being  dragged  through  the  jungle  by 
that  hideous  creature  of  the  Voodoo  queen  ?  Per 
haps  it  would  have  been  better  had  we  remained 
to  protect  her  from  the  queen." 

"Huh !"  retorted  Larry,  in  scorn.  "A  fine  sam 
ple  of  protection  we  could  have  given  her.  They 
handled  us  like  babies — the  two  babes  in  the  wood 
that  we  are!" 

"I  know  I'll  not  be  able  to  sleep,  from  worrying 
about  her,"  I  said. 

"Don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself,"  he  answered. 
"You  just  will  sleep,  too.  It  won't  do  the  girl  a 
bit  of  good  to  sit  up  all  night,  tearing  your  hair 
and  moaning  about  her.  What  you  want  to  do  is 


196  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

to  turn  in  and  get  a  good  night's  sleep,  so  that  you 
can  put  up  a  good  fight  for  her  to-morrow,  if  a 
fight  is  needed." 

"That  sounds  like  pretty  good  advice,''  I  said, 
"and  I  guess  I'll  try  to  follow  it.  But  when  the 
girl  you  love  is  in  danger — is  perhaps  being  done 
to  death,  or  suffering  tortures  worse  than  death — > 
I  tell  you,  it  drives  Mr.  Sleep  away." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Larry  sympathetically. 
"But  you'll  find,  after  a  while,  that  the  girl  is  all 
right.  In  fact,  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
things  in  life  are  never  quite  as  bad  or  quite  as 
good  as  you  think  they're  going  to  be." 

Just  before  turning  in  for  the  night,  I  looked 
out  of  the  door,  and  was  startled  to  observe  sev 
eral  dark,  motionless  figures  upon  the  fence  sur 
rounding  the  yard. 

"Look!"  I  cried,  in  dismay.  "Look  over  there! 
Are  those  some  of  the  monks?" 

Together,  we  approached  for  closer  inspection., 

"They're  turkeys  gone  to  roost,"  said  Larry, 
when  we  got  within  ten  feet  of  the  nearest  silent 
form.  "I've  a  good  notion  to  spear  one  of  them 
with  my  knife,  so  as  to  be  sure  of  a  good  break 
fast." 

"Don't — for  Heaven's  sake,  don't!"  I  cried,  in 
terror.  "They're  not  turkeys  at  all.  Don't  you 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  197 

see  that  they  are  vultures  of  some  hideous  breed? 
If  you  molested  one  of  them,  the  whole  flock 
might  attack  us,  and  there  are  enough  of  them 
to  put  up  a  nasty  fight." 

"Guess  you're  right,  Jack,"  said  Larry.  "I  can 
see  more  than  a  dozen  of  them  now,  and  they  all 
look  as  though  they  needed  a  square  meal." 

It  was  with  more  than  one  shudder  of  dread 
that  I  threw  myself  upon  the  couch  in  that  strange 
room.  As  I  tried  to  pierce  the  gloom  of  my  sur 
roundings,  I  imagined  that  I  could  see  the  evil 
eyes  of  the  loathsome  birds  glaring  at  me  from 
the  threshold.  I  seemed  to  hear  the  rustle  of  their 
huge  wings  as  they  beat  the  air,  and  could  detect 
the  odor  of  carrion  flesh  that  reeked  from  their 
cruel  talons  and  hooked  beaks. 

I  awoke  with  a  start.  The  moon  was  shining 
through  the  doorway,  full  upon  my  face.  A  dark 
figure,  gowned  and  hooded,  stood  beside  my  bed. 

"Who  are  you?"  I  cried,  so  startled  that  I  could 
feel  the  cold  perspiration  come  to  my  forehead. 

The  dark  figure  made  no  answer,  but  glided 
silently  and  swiftly  through  the  door. 

I  jumped  to  my  feet,  and  ran  out  of  the  build 
ing. 

No  one  was  in  sight.  The  moonlight  bathed 
the  monastery  yard  and  walls  with  almost  the 


198  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

brilliance  of  day.  The  only  living  things  in  view 
were  the  hideous  vultures,  perched  like  sentries 
along  the  fence. 

"What's  the  matter,  Jack?"  asked  Larry,  in 
sleepy  tones,  from  within. 

"The  monk!"  I  cried,  reentering  the  apartment. 
"He  was  here  just  a  moment  ago.  Then  he  van 
ished.  Didn't  you  see  him?" 

"No,  I  didn't,  and  I  don't  believe  you  did,"  re 
plied  Larry  peevishly.  "You're  dreaming  things. 
Go  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN  THE  COPPER  CAVERNS 

DAWN  was  creeping  into  the  doorway,  and  the 
sound  of  shuffling  feet  fell  upon  my  ear,  when  I 
once  more  became  conscious  of  things.  Shadowy 
forms  were  passing  and  repassing  in  the  monas 
tery  yard. 

"Our  hosts  are  early  risers,"  remarked  Larry, 
who  was  already  awake  and  sitting  up  in  his 
bunk. 

"Who— the  monks?"  I  asked. 

"Who  do  you  suppose — the  New  York  fire  de 
partment?"  he  retorted.  "They've  been  out  there 
these  fifteen  minutes,  cutting  figure  eights  and 
playing  with  the  chickens.  I've  got  an  idea,  Jack, 
that  we've  landed  in  a  bughouse." 

It  was,  indeed,  a  remarkable  sight  that  greeted 
our  eyes,  as  we  peered  through  the  open  doorway. 
The  big  wooden  platform  held  some  one  hundred 
and  fifty  of  the  monks,  all  gowned  and  hooded 

199 


200  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

like  the  one  who  had  been  at  the  Voodoo  feast, 
and  the  one  whom  I  had  seen  in  the  moonlight. 
They  were  marching  round  and  round,  waving 
their  arms  in  the  air ;  and  whenever  they  reached 
the  outer,  or  eastern,  side  of  the  inclosure,  they 
made  low  bows  to  the  rising  sun. 

The  ceremony  was  conducted  by  one  whose 
great  age  was  evidenced  by  feeble  steps,  and  by 
the  snow-white  beard  which  fell  to  his  knees. 

Circling  over  the  heads  of  the  monks  was  the 
flock  of  vultures  that  we  had  seen  roosting  on  the 
fence  the  night  before.  The  great  birds  swooped 
down,  one  by  one,  to  receive  pieces  of  raw  meat 
which  the  white-bearded  monk  doled  out  to  them 
from  a  basket.  As  each  vulture  received  his  por 
tion,  he  flapped  his  wide  wings,  wheeled  a  few 
times  in  the  air  above  the  monastery,  and  sailed 
majestically  away. 

As  the  last  bird  was  fed,  the  sun  burst  in  full 
glory  over  the  smoke-capped  crest  of  Mont  La- 
zarre,  and  all  the  monks  prostrated  themselves  in 
the  dust.  They  remained  thus  for  the  space  of 
a  minute,  and  then,  at  a  signal  from  the  high 
priest,  who  was  the  first  to  rise,  reformed  in 
line,  marched  three  times  around  the  yard,  and 
filed  into  the  monastery  through  one  of  the  doors 
that  had  been  closed  to  us,  the  night  before. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  201 

After  his  followers  had  gone,  the  venerable 
monk  came  toward  the  door  of  our  chamber,  and, 
reaching  a  point  five  or  six  feet  beyond  the 
threshold,  stood  with  folded  arms,  as  though  wait 
ing  for  us  to  come  out.  Accepting  the  hint,  we 
approached  him;  and  he  bowed  with  the  greatest 
dignity,  spreading  out  his  hands  toward  the  mon 
astery,  as  though  to  indicate  that  we  were  wel 
come. 

"Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Larry,  in  Spanish. 
"We  hope  you  are  well  this  fine  day." 

The  monk  bowed  and  smiled. 

"We  came  in  search  of  a  young  lady,"  I  said, 
coming  directly  to  the  subject  uppermost  in  my 
mind.  "May  we  see  her?" 

The  old  monk  shook  his  head. 

"If  not  now,  when?"  I  asked. 

Once  more  he  shook  his  head;  and,  as  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  my  heart  sank. 

"Surely,  she  is  here!"  1  cried. 

For  the  third  time,  he  gave  the  negative  sign. 

"But  she  is  expected!"  I  cried,  in  an  agony  of 
apprehension.  "Oh,  tell  me,  reverend  sir,  that  she 
is  expected !  Surely,  you  must  have  some  tidings 
of  her?  You  know  her  whereabouts,  and  she  is 
safe?" 

This  time,  to  my  great  joy,  he  bowed  his  head. 


202  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

I  could  have  embraced  him  for  the  load  he  lifted 
from  my  heart. 

Then,  Norelle  was  safe  with  friends!  Of  that 
I  could  feel  assured.  The  good  monks  had  her 
under  their  protection  somewhere ;  and  I  had  but 
to  possess  my  soul  in  patience  for  a  little  while, 
and  we  would  meet  again. 

While  we  were  standing  thus,  another  member 
of  the  brotherhood  approached,  and  remained 
with  eyes  bent  upon  the  ground  until  our  inter 
view  was  ended.  The  elder  monk  then  indicated 
that  we  were  to  accompany  the  newcomer. 

Bidding  farewell  to  the  aged  man,  we  followed 
the  younger  into  the  monastery,  and  entered  a 
passageway  which  led  to  an  apartment  situated 
at  the  far  end  of  the  building.  In  this  room  we 
found  a  table  spread  with  an  appetizing  display 
of  fruit,  grain  cakes  of  some  sort,  honey,  and  milk. 
The  monk  invited  us  to  partake  of  the  edibles,  and 
left  the  room  as  we  took  our  places  at  the 
table. 

"They're  not  planning  to  starve  us  to  death, 
that's  one  thing  certain,"  said  Larry  cheerfully. 
"As  long  as  they  feed  me  as  well  as  this,  I'll  not 
admit  they're  loony,  even  though  they  do  funny 
stunts  with  the  buzzards." 

We  made  a  hearty  meal;  and  when  the  monk 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  203 

returned,  half  an  hour  later,  we  were  quite  ready 
to  take  a  more  optimistic  view  of  life.  Our  guide 
then  took  us  on  a  tour  of  the  monastery  building, 
and  a  very  interesting  place  it  proved  to  be. 

I  had  expected  to  be  shown  great  halls  of  wor 
ship,  relics  of  hoary  antiquity,  and,  possibly,  gods 
graven  in  stone  and  ivory  and  gold ;  but  the  house 
seemed,  for  the  most  part,  to  consist  of  sleeping 
apartments,  provided  with  bunks  similar  to  those 
upon  which  we  had  slept.  Stranger  still,  there 
were  no  monks  to  be  found  about  the  building. 
All  the  members  of  that  great  crew,  whom  earlier 
in  the  day  we  had  seen  worshipping  the  sun,  had 
apparently  vanished  into  thin  air. 

The  only  apartment  not  used  as  a  bedchamber, 
save  the  dining  room  in  which  we  ourselves  had 
eaten  breakfast,  was  filled  with  a  collection  of 
manuscripts.  This  room — the  library,  I  took  it 
to  be — was  located  in  one  of  the  gables  of  the 
building;  and  the  great  window  which  gave  it 
light  overshot  the  lower  floor  so  far  that  it  was 
flush  with  the  outside  fence  of  the  inclosure. 
Thus  one  might  have  dropped  a  pebble  from 
the  window  to  the  ground,  two  hundred  feet 
below. 

The  walls  of  the  library  were  provided  with 
rows  of  shelves,  reaching  from  floor  to  ceiling. 


204  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

These  shelves  were  nearly  all  filled  with  parch 
ments,  many  of  which  were  bound  in  brass,  after 
the  form  of  our  volumes  nowadays,  while  hun 
dreds  of  others  were  contained  in  copper  cylin 
ders. 

Reclining  upon  a  couch,  near  the  big  window, 
was  the  only  monk  we  had  encountered  in  our 
inspection  of  the  building.  Him  I  took  to  be  the 
librarian;  for,  when  we  entered,  he  arose,  bowed 
courteously,  and  waved  his  hand,  as  though  to 
make  us  welcome.  Cordial  enough  though  his 
smile  appeared  to  be,  there  was  about  the  man 
something  that  I  did  not  like. 

His  face  was  dark,  almost,  as  a  negro's;  and 
his  large,  hooked  nose  and  piercing  black  eyes  lent 
to  his  countenance  a  look  of  cruelty  which  struck 
me  as  unpleasant  in  the  extreme. 

He  very  politely  showed  us  a  number  of  the 
manuscripts.  Many  of  these,  I  was  surprised  to 
find,  were  in  Spanish ;  but  the  great  majority  were 
limned  in  a  character  which  I  could  not  read  and 
did  not  even  know  by  name.  Many  of  the  brass- 
bound  books  were  handsomely  embellished  with 
illuminated  script. 

After  we  had  visited  all  the  rooms  in  the  monas 
tery,  our  guide  conducted  us  along  a  hallway 
which  brought  us  to  a  door  built  into  the  face  of 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  205 

the  cliff.  This  door  he  opened,  revealing,  to  our 
amazement,  a  tunnel  hewn  out  of  the  solid  rock 
of  the  mountain. 

Imagine  a  great  passageway,  with  arched  ceil 
ing,  extending  into  the  cliff  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach,  and  illuminated  with  myriads  of  brass 
lamps,  planted  at  intervals  of  twenty-five  or  thirty 
feet.  From  the  number  of  lights,  which  sparkled 
back  into  the  mountain  until  they  looked  no  larger 
than  the  stars  of  the  Milky  Way,  I  judged  that 
the  tunnel  was  several  miles  in  length. 

"Well,  this  beats  the  Mammoth  Cave!"  ex-: 
claimed  Larry,  in  admiration.  "I'm  glad  I  did 
not  have  the  contract  of  digging  out  the  rock." 

We  started  down  the  tunnel  at  a  brisk  pace, 
and,  at  the  end  of  twenty  minutes,  came  to  an 
octagonal  chamber,  fully  one  hundred  feet  in 
diameter,  and  half  as  high  again  to  its  groined 
ceiling.  This  great  cathedral,  at  first  sight, 
seemed  to  be  peopled  by  a  throng  of  monks ;  but, 
upon  nearer  view,  the  figures  proved  to  be  bronze 
statuary. 

All  the  figures  save  one  were  kneeling,  and 
faced  a  raised  platform  in  the  centre,  upon  which, 
with  his  arms  outstretched  in  a  protecting  man 
ner  over  the  throng,  was  the  form  of  another 
monk.  Although  he  was  dressed  in  the  same  garb 


206  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

as  the  kneeling  figures,  this  monk  was  of  heroic 
stature;  and,  over  his  head,  suspended  by  a  wire, 
was  poised  a  bronze  vulture,  with  wings  out 
stretched. 

There  must  have  been  at  least  three  hundred  of 
the  kneeling  bronzes  grouped  around  the  central 
figure;  and,  as  I  came  upon  this  strange  assem 
blage  without  warning,  a  most  uncanny  feeling 
clutched  my  heart. 

Larry  evidently  felt  it,  too;  for  he  exclaimed: 
"Of  all  the  rum  sights  I  ever  saw,  this  beats  the 
bunch !"  Then  he  turned  to  our  guide,  and  asked : 
"Are  these  the  statues  of  your  departed 
brethren?" 

The  young  monk  nodded  his  head. 

"They  are  lifelike  enough  to  be  the  dead  them 
selves,"  I  exclaimed,  as  I  approached  for  a  closer 
view  of  the  kneeling  figures. 

As  though  divining  my  wish,  the  monk  tapped 
one  of  the  statues  lightly  on  the  forehead,  and  in 
dicated  that  we  might  do  likewise.  A  closer  ex 
amination  revealed  the  fact  that  each  face  con 
tained  its  lines  of  individuality. 

"They  are  the  dead  themselves!"  I  exclaimed. 

The  monk  nodded  in  acquiescence. 

"In  short,  they  are  marvelous  pieces  of  copper 
plate,"  said  Larry,  in  an  awestruck  whisper. 


LARK    THE^E    THE    8TATUK8   OF    YOUR   DEPARTED   BRETHREN  ?" 

Page  206. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  207 

"They  must  have  some  wonderful  process  of 
electroplating  the  bodies,"  I  suggested. 

"I  take  it  that  the  one  in  the  centre  of  the 
group  was  the  founder  or  patron  saint  of  the 
order,"  said  Larry,  looking  at  the  guide. 

To  this  the  young  monk  agreed,  with  an  inclina 
tion  of  his  head. 

We  had  just  time  to  note  the  fact  that  from  the 
other  sides  of  the  octagonal  chamber  radiated  tun 
nels  similar  to  the  one  we  had  traversed  from  the 
monastery,  when  our  guide  led  the  way  into  one 
of  them.  We  had  proceeded  for  possibly  half  a 
mile  along  the  lamplit  way,  when  we  heard  the 
ring  of  hammers  on  metal.  The  din  grew  louder, 
as  though  we  were  approaching  a  huge  boiler 
shop;  and,  suddenly,  a  sharp  turn  in  the  tunnel 
brought  us  to  the  scene  of  activity. 

It  was  the  monks'  foundry.  Glowing  furnaces, 
puffing  bellows,  and  monstrous  hammers  were  at 
work  in  a  room  that  must  have  measured  one 
hundred  feet  from  side  to  side.  Brethren  of  the 
order,  to  the  number  of  sixty  or  seventy,  were  en 
gaged  about  the  shop ;  and  as  the  forges,  melting 
pots,  and  great,  glowing  ingots  of  metal  threw 
out  an  intense  heat,  I  was  not  surprised  to  observe 
that  all  the  smiths  were  stripped  to  the  waist. 

There  may  have  been  other  metals  in  the  pots 


208  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

or  on  the  anvils,  but  I  saw  none  but  copper  and 
brass  in  the  hands  of  the  workmen,  who  were 
fashioning  all  sorts  of  implements  of  offense  and 
defense,  and  of  everyday  use.  Cooking  utensils, 
swords,  hoes,  axes,  spears,  brackets  for  lamps, 
hinges  for  doors,  shields,  helmets,  hammers, 
plates,  sickles,  chains — in  fact,  a  wondrous  array 
of  things  was  being  made  by  the  silent  brothers. 

Three  or  four  of  the  monks  acted  evidently  as 
foremen;  for  they  were  not  handling  the  metal 
themselves,  but  were  here,  there,  and  everywhere, 
directing  the  others. 

I  should  willingly  have  lingered  for  hours  in 
that  interesting  place,  but  our  guide  was  evi 
dently  bent  on  showing  us  other  sights;  so  we 
hurried  on.  From  the  copper  shop,  we  proceeded 
to  a  third  tunnel,  where  we  found  another  gang 
of  workmen  engaged  in  mining  the  copper  ore. 

The  mountain  was  evidently  wonderfully  rich 
in  this  useful  metal — so  rich,  in  fact,  that  the 
monks  were  able  to  dig  a  definite  system  of  tun 
nels,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  be  rewarded  with 
the  precious  copper  at  every  step  of  the  work.  I 
doubt  if  the  Montana  hills  or  the  lake  region  of 
Michigan  could  produce  an  equal  quantity  or  qual 
ity  of  copper. 

A  journey  through  a  fourth  tunnel  brought  us 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  209 

to  the  bakeshop  and  kitchen,  while  the  fifth,  sixth, 
and  seventh  revealed  the  looms  on  which  their 
cloth  was  woven;  the  joiners'  shop,  where  the 
workers  in  wood  made  tables,  chairs,  and  other 
articles  of  daily  need;  and  the  tailors'  quarters, 
where  cloth  and  leather  were  fashioned  into 
things  of  wear. 

"It's  a  wonderful  city!"  exclaimed  Larry  ad 
miringly,  after  we  had  left  the  seventh  hive  of 
industry.  "The  only  thing  I  regret  is  that  we 
have  not  seen  them  copper-plate  the  dear  de 
parted." 

"Horrible !"  I  cried,  with  a  shudder.  "I  wouldn't 
see  it  done  for  a  farm." 

"Well,  I  would,"  retorted  Larry,  "because  I 
want  to  learn  the  secret,  and  take  it  back  to  the 
States.  It  beats  our  burial  system  all  hollow. 
Just  think  how  nice  it  would  be  to  have  your  cop 
per-plated  ancestors  assisting  at  a  reception? 
They  would  give  an  'air'  to  the  function  that  no 
amount  of  vulgar  wealth  could  hope  to  touch." 

"Oh,  shut  up !"  I  exclaimed,  in  disgust. 

"Why  not?"  continued  Larry,  with  fiendish  en 
thusiasm.  "If  you  didn't  care  about  showing  off 
great-grandfather  and  grandfather,  you  could 
have  them  put  snugly  away  in  a  spare  bedroom. 
And  then,  think  how  neatly  you  could  even  up 


210  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

scores  with  those  ancestors  you  did  not  like.  The 
old  fellows  who  had  squandered  the  money  that 
you  should  have  inherited,  or  who  disgraced  the 
family  by  marrying  the  cook — you  could  square 
accounts  with  them  by  dumping-  them  in  the  coal 
bin,  or  planting  them  out  in  front  as  hitching 
posts.  Oh,  I  tell  you,  there's  no  limit  to  the  possi 
bilities  of  the  scheme.  If  you  became  rich,  you 
could  give  your  forefathers  a  coat  of  silver  plate 
over  the  copper;  and,  if  you  joined  the  real  pluto 
crat  class,  you  could  gold-plate  'em.  And  every 
coat  of  metal  you  gave  them  would  make  'em  more 
durable  and  weatherproof." 

Our  guide  was  evidently  shocked  at  Larry's 
gruesome  levity;  for  he  scowled  fiercely,  and  held 
up  his  hand  warningly,  as  though  to  stop  the  Irish 
man's  tongue.  But  Larry  either  did  not  observe 
the  sign,  or  did  not  care,  for  he  continued  glibly : 

"Second-hand  dealers  would  do  a  rushing  busi 
ness  in  ancestral  antiques;  and  it  would  be  only 
a  question  of  time  when  the  department  stores 
would  be  advertising  bargain  sales  in  gold,  silver, 
and  copper-plated  ancestors." 

With  an  inarticulate  cry  of  rage,  the  monk 
sprang  at  Larry,  and  landed  a  heavy  blow  upon 
his  neck. 

Had  the  blow  found  the  point  of  the  jaw,  an 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  211 

inch  or  two  higher,  my  detective  friend  would 
have  been  down  and  out ;  for  the  monk  was  of  gen 
erous  build,  and  owned  a  fist  like  a  ham.  As  it 
was,  Larry  was  little  the  worse  for  the  blow,  and 
came  back  at  his  dumb  antagonist,  hammer  and 
tongs.  A  very  pretty  battle  was  in  prospect;  for 
they  were  about  evenly  matched  as  to  height  and 
reach,  and,  I  judged,  as  to  age. 

But  I  rushed  in  between  them,  at  the  imminent 
risk  of  my  own  features,  crying:  "Stop — stop! 

"Now,  you  apologize  to  our  friend,"  I  said  to 
Larry,  after  I  had  broken  them  apart.  "You 
should  have  had  more  sense  than  to  talk  like  that 
about  the  dead,  right  here  in  the  tomb  of  the 
brotherhood.  I'm  ashamed  of  you.  If  you  haven't 
any  respect  for  the  memory  of  your  fathers, 
others  have.  Our  guide  was  right.  You  deserve 
a  licking." 

At  first,  Larry  glared  at  me  like  a  tiger  at  bay. 
"I've  a  good  notion  to  teach  you  a  little  lesson, 
son,"  he  began  fiercely.  But  at  the  next  moment 
his  old-time,  sunny  smile  broke  out,  and  he  held 
out  his  hands  to  both  of  us.  "I'll  take  back  every 
thing  I  said,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  really  meant  no 
harm  at  all,  at  all.  It  was  all  a  joke — indeed  it 
was.  Will  you  forgive  me,  sir,  for  offending 
you?" 


212  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

The  look  of  loathing  with  which  the  monk  had 
been  regarding  Larry  gradually  disappeared ;  and 
he,  too,  smiled  as  he  took  the  proffered  hand. 

The  awkward  situation  ended  there  and  then; 
for  at  that  moment  came  the  clanging  of  a  deep- 
toned  bell — then  another,  and  another,  until  the 
caverns  were  resounding  as  if  all  the  fire  alarms 
in  a  big  city  had  been  turned  loose  together. 

A  gasping,  choking  cry  came  from  the  tongue- 
less  mouth  of  our  guide,  and  he  seized  my  hand, 
to  start  full  speed  in  the  direction  of  the  octagonal 
chamber. 

Sullivan  followed  close  upon  our  heels;  and,  as 
we  raced  along,  we  were  soon  joined  by  other 
monks.  The  bells  kept  up  their  clangor,  and  in 
the  far  distance  somewhere  I  heard  a  series  of 
shots  or  explosions. 

"Must  be  a  fire,"  yelled  Larry. 

Through  the  chamber  of  kneeling  statues  we 
dashed  with  the  running  throng  of  coppersmiths, 
bakers,  miners,  and  other  craftsmen,  and  then 
started  down  the  tunnel  that  led  to  the  monastery. 
We  were  quite  breathless  when  we  reached  the 
end  of  the  passageway,  and  rushed  pell-mell  out 
into  the  light  of  day. 

The  great  inclosure  of  the  monastery  was 
crowded  with  monks.  Those  on  the  side  of  the 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  213 

yard  nearest  the  house  were  rolling  huge  stones 
and  lumps  of  ore  toward  their  brethren  on  the 
outer  edge,  while  the  latter,  who  were  near  the 
fence,  were  lifting  and  hurling  the  heavy  missiles 
into  the  abyss. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  cried,  looking  upon  the 
strange  scene  with  bewildered  eyes. 

"Matter — hell!"  vociferated  Larry,  as  he  joined 
the  force  of  stone  throwers.  "The  Voodoos  are 
storming  the  monastery,  that's  all." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IN  DEFENSE  OF  THE  MONASTERY 

FROM  far  below  came  a  babel  of  cries,  mingled 
with  the  sound  of  gun  and  pistol  shots.  Running 
to  the  fence,  I  looked  over.  I  drew  back  quickly, 
however,  as  half  a  dozen  quick  reports  and  a  pat 
ter  of  bullets  on  the  fence  warned  me  that  every 
head  exposed  was  a  target  for  the  negroes. 

Even  in  the  brief  glance  I  had  taken,  I  was 
able  to  see  that  the  blacks  were  in  force,  and  that 
the  Yellow  Queen  was  directing  the  attack  from 
the  two-wheeled  cart  which  she  had  seized  from 
our  Spanish  captors.  As  nearly  as  I  could  judge, 
the  rocks  and  chunks  of  ore  which  the  monks  were 
hurling  to  the  earth  had,  thus  far,  not  been  very 
effective.  None  of  the  negroes  seemed  to  have 
been  injured  or  killed,  but  the  missiles  served 
the  purpose  of  keeping  the  Voodoo  people  so  busy 
dodging  that  they  found  little  time  in  which  to  in 
flict  any  real  injury  upon  the  monastery  or  its 
occupants. 

214 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  215 

Half  a  dozen  revolvers  and  muskets  barked  at 
irregular  intervals;  but,  luckily  for  the  defense, 
the  negroes  were  poor  marksmen. 

Larry  and  I  hastened  to  take  an  active  part  in 
the  battle,  and  assisted  the  monks  in  throwing 
fragments  of  stone  and  ore  over  the  top  of  the 
wooden  wall.  At  Larry's  suggestion,  I  secured 
an  axe,  and  chopped  several  holes  in  the  wooden 
floor  of  the  inclosure,  in  order  to  give  us  lookouts 
—or,  more  accurately  speaking,  "lookdowns"  at 
the  enemy. 

"This  reminds  me,"  said  Larry,  "of  the  days 
when  I  was  a  youngster  in  Kerry  Patch,  heaving 
brickbats  at  the  dog  catchers." 

"But  why  are  they  attacking  the  monastery?" 
I  asked.  "I  thought  there  was  peace  between  the 
Voodoos  and  the  monks." 

"Perhaps  it  was  because  I  have  become  one  of 
your  lodgers."  A  sweet,  familiar  voice  behind 
me  uttered  the  words. 

Whirling  around,  I  beheld  Norelle,  and  could 
scarcely  believe  my  eyes. 

"You  here!"  I  gasped.  "Well,  how  on  earth 
did  you  reach  this  place,  and  when?" 

"I  came  by  the  elevator,  ten  minutes  ago,"  she 
replied,  pointing  to  the  bo's'n's  chair  swinging 
from  the  crane.  She  spoke  as  lightly  as  though 


216  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

the  perilous  ascent  was  of  no  more  moment  than 
a  trip  by  trolley,  or  a  walk  around  the  block  at 
home. 

"But  the  dog-man  and  the  other  devilish  ne 
groes "  I  began. 

"Arrived  here  just  three  minutes  too  late  to 
get  me,"  said  Norelle,  with  a  nervous  little  laugh. 
"My  good  guide,  the  brother  who  does  not  talk, 
brought  me  here  by  the  most  direct  route ;  and  we 
had  no  adventures  by  the  way." 

"I  am  surprised  that  your  father  and  mother 
would  consent  to  your  coming,"  I  exclaimed. 

"The  good  monk  had  little  difficulty  in  convinc 
ing  them  that  I  would  be  safer  here  than  at  the 
hotel.  The  whole  city  of  St.  Croix  is  in  a  state 
of  terror,  and  almost  every  one  dreams  of  the 
Yellow  Queen  and  her  plots.  But  tell  me,  if  you 
can,  why  has  the  Yellow  Queen  conceived  a  grudge 
against  me?  What  have  I  ever  done  to  her?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  I  lied  unblushingly,  "but  have 
no  fears.  We  will  protect  you  here  with  our 
heart's  blood." 

"You  look  too  pale  to  spare  much  just  now, 
Mr.  Smith,"  replied  Norelle,  with  another  laugh. 
Then,  her  smile  vanishing  on  the  instant,  she 
added :  "I  want  no  blood  shed  for  me.  I  did  not 
want  to  come,  and  would  not  have  moved  a  step, 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  217 

if  it  had  not  been  for  the  insistence  of  father  and 
mother.  I  saw  no  reason  in  it  then,  and  see  none 
in  it  now.  Why  is  this  battle  going  on?  What 
have  I  done  to  be  the  cause  ?  I  never  intentionally 
harmed  that  woman,  or  any  other  human  being  I" 

All  of  a  sudden,  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands,  and  burst  into  sobs.  I  would  cheerfully 
have  given  five  years  of  my  life  to  have  been  able, 
at  that  moment,  to  clasp  her  in  my  arms,  and 
console  her.  Yet  I  dared  not. 

But  Larry,  impudent  Irishman  that  he  was,  had 
no  such  delicacy  of  feeling  at  all,  apparently;  for 
he  threw  his  arm  about  her  in  a  fatherly  way, 
and  drew  her  into  the  open  door  of  the  monastery. 
She  sobbed  more  than  ever,  but  made  no  effort 
to  remove  his  arm.  I  followed  them  into  the 
building,  feeling  even  more  wretched,  I  am  sure, 
than  the  poor  girl  herself,  although  my  heart  was 
probably  wrung  by  a  different  set  of  emotions. 

"There,  there,  little  girl!"  exclaimed  Larry 
soothingly.  "We  are  all  going  to  leave  this  place 
for  good  just  as  soon  as  we  kill  off  a  few  more 
negroes." 

"I  don't  want  any  of  the  poor  wretches  mur 
dered!"  wailed  Norelle.  "I  don't  want  anybody 
hurt  on  my  account.  I  just  want  to  leave  this  hor 
rid  island  forever.  It's  no  place  for  white  people, 


218  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

anyway.  Oh,  papa,  papa!  Why  did  you  ever 
come  to  this  dreadful  place?"  She  was  now  fast 
approaching  the  hysterical  stage  of  her  grief. 

Larry  bent  over  her,  and,  I  think,  came  very 
to  kissing  her.  If  he  had  dared  such  a  thing,  I 
am  sure  I  would  have  brained  him  on  the  spot. 
Instead  of  doing  so,  however,  he  merely  stroked 
her  sunny  hair,  and  said: 

"You  just  came  down  here,  little  girl,  so  that 
you  could  find  out  what  a  brave  young  champion 
you  have  in  Jack,  here.  Now,  don't  be  after  get 
ting  despondent,  mavourneen,  for  everything  is 
going  to  pan  out  all  right.  We'll  have  the  Voo 
doos  on  the  run  in  a  jiffy;  then  we'll  fix  the  busi 
ness  of  the  thieving  governor-general,  and  we'll 
sail  back  home,  to  be  happy  ever  after,  as  they 
say  in  all  the  story  books." 

Here  Larry  probably  observed  my  black  looks, 
and  took  pity  on  me;  for  at  the  next  moment,  he 
exclaimed : 

"Take  good  care  of  her,  Jack.  I've  got  to  get 
busy  and  help  that  talkative  crowd  out  there,  or 
we  may  have  no  roof  over  our  heads."  Thereupon, 
he  left  the  room,  and  I  turned  to  console  Norelle. 

But  think  you  she  needed  consoling?  Not  a 
bit  of  it. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  she  cried,  with 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  219 

flashing  eyes,  and  in  a  tone  of  fine  scorn.  "Why 
are  you  hiding  in  here,  when  those  brave  monks 
and  that  splendid  hero,  Larry  Sullivan,  are  fight 
ing  for  their  lives  against  that  mob  of  inhuman 

> 

blacks  ?    Are  you  altogether  a  coward  ? 

I  bowed,  and  left  the  room,  feeling  like  a 
whipped  puppy;  for  I  had  little  expected  such 
treatment  at  her  hands.  She  had  not  acted  like 
that  with  Larry.  She  had  not  called  him  a  coward 
when  he  left  the  fight  to  comfort  her.  Women 
are  strange  creatures,  and  Norelle  the  strangest 
of  the  sisterhood. 

The  noise  of  battle  had  waxed  louder  when  I 
returned  to  the  open.  The  blacks  below  had  evi 
dently  adopted  new  tactics,  and  were  now  trying 
to  break  down  the  stilts  which  supported  the 
monastery,  using  the  trunks  of  trees  as  battering- 
rams.  Fifty  or  sixty  of  the  negroes  would  pick 
up  a  huge  log,  and  come  on  with  it  at  full  speed, 
until  they  brought  it  against  the  upright  beam 
with  force  sufficient  to  beat  down  a  fortress.  But 
the  great  uprights  were  planted  so  deeply  in  the 
ground,  and  were  of  such  sturdy  timber,  that  they 
did  not  yield.  Again  and  again,  the  wooden  ham 
mers  were  hurled  against  the  posts,  and  again 
and  again  they  failed. 

"You'll  have  to  do  better  than  that,  my  heart- 


220  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

ies,"  cried  Larry,  exhorting  half  a  hundred  of  the 
enemy,  who  went  sprawling  to  the  ground  as 
they  brought  another  log  crashing  against  a 
timber. 

"That  seems  to  be  exactly  what  they  are  pre 
paring  to  do,"  I  said,  watching  the  blacks  through 
one  of  the  loopholes  in  the  floor.  "They  are  now 
going  to  try  to  dig  up  the  posts." 

"And  some  of  the  scoundrels  are  making  a 
fire,"  added  Larry.  "By  heck,  it  looks  as  though 
they  might  make  things  interesting  for  us,  after 
all." 

A  score  of  Voodoo  men  came  running  over  the 
open  space,  with  bundles  of  faggots  upon  their 
backs.  These  they  heaped  around  several  of  the 
supporting  posts;  and,  in  spite  of  the  shower  of 
rocks  cast  down  by  the  monks,  they  managed  to 
set  the  wood  ablaze.  When  they  were  directly 
underneath  the  building,  the  negroes  were,  in  a 
large  measure,  protected  from  the  missiles  by  the 
overhang  of  the  structure  itself.  Only  an  occa 
sional  fragment  of  ore  found  a  mark;  and,  real 
izing  that  at  last  they  had  hit  upon  a  plan  which 
promised  our  destruction,  the  negroes  set  up  a 
shrill  shout  of  triumph. 

A  dozen  red  tongues  of  flame  shot  upward,  and 
licked  the  monastery's  stilts.  It  seemed  but  a 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  221 

matter  of  a  few  minutes  when  the  big  timbers 
themselves  would  be  ignited  from  the  kindling 
wood  at  their  bases ;  and,  if  they  burned,  the  build 
ing  was,  of  course,  doomed  to  fall.  The  new  dan 
ger  at  first  seemed  to  paralyze  the  energy  of  the 
defense,  and  the  monks  ceased  their  efforts,  to 
gather  piteously  around  their  venerable  leader, 
and,  with  signs  which  even  we  could  read,  indi 
cate  that  they  believed  the  battle  lost. 

"Here!"  cried  Larry,  elbowing  his  way  into 
the  crowd,  and  addressing  himself  to  the  white- 
bearded  leader.  "Where's  the  fire  department  of 
this  outfit?  Water  is  what  we  need.  Bring  on  a 
little  of  it,  and  we'll  put  out  that  blaze  in  no 
time." 

His  abruptness  seemed  to  inspire  the  monks 
with  renewed  hope,  for  the  venerable  brother  is 
sued  a  number  of  orders,  which  caused  a  dozen 
of  the  priests  to  rush  into  the  building;  and  the 
rest  renewed  their  attacks  upon  the  black  mob 
below. 

Within  two  or  three  minutes,  the  monks  who 
had  entered  the  monastery  reappeared,  rolling  be 
fore  them  several  great,  copper-hooped  hogsheads. 
Axes  were  wielded,  and  the  heads  of  these  casks 
were  soon  beaten  in.  Out  gushed,  not  water,  but 
great  streams  of  amber-colored  wine  or  beer. 


222  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

The  liquid  flowed  in  streams  over  the  wooden 
floor  of  the  inclosure,  and,  finding  the  crevices 
between  the  boards,  as  well  as  the  several  loop 
holes  we  had  made,  poured  through.  Spreading 
as  it  fell,  it  descended  upon  the  blazing  piles  like 
heavy  rain. 

"Fine  business,"  cried  Larry  approvingly. 
"But  what  a  wicked  waste  of  beer!" 

By  the  time  a  dozen  of  the  casks  had  been 
broached,  the  fires  below  were  quenched.  The 
negroes  set  up  a  howl  of  rage  when  they  saw  their 
incendiary  designs  go  for  naught.  Then,  with  re 
newed  energy,  they  proceeded  to  dig  like  moles 
around  the  feet  of  the  supporting  timbers. 

"They  will  tear  the  house  down  over  our  heads, 
in  spite  of  all  we  can  do!"  I  cried,  in  despair. 
"Our  only  refuge  is  the  tunnel." 

"Not  by  a  jugful,"  replied  Sullivan,  who  stood 
watching  the  operations  of  the  blacks.  "I  have  an 
idea  that  I'm  going  to  try,  if  I  can  get  a  little 
help." 

Striding  over  to  the  side  of  the  venerable  high 
priest,  Larry  whispered  a  few  words  into  his  ear. 
The  old  man  had  been  standing,  the  picture  of 
dejection,  in  the  corner  of  the  yard;  but  now,  at 
Larry's  first  words,  he  brightened  up  perceptibly, 
and  issued  a  number  of  rapid  sign  orders  to  his 


THE    HOUSE    ON   STILTS  223 

followers.  Larry  ran  into  the  monastery,  fol 
lowed  by  a  score  or  more  of  the  monks. 

In  the  meantime,  Norelle  had  emerged  from  the 
building,  and  I  was  overjoyed  to  see  that  she  had 
dried  her  tears.  But  when  she  saw  me  regarding 
her,  she  deliberately  turned  her  back — which  I 
took  to  be  a  hint  that  she  did  not  wish  to  talk  with 
me.  I  therefore  continued  to  watch  the  negroes, 
who  were  working  so  far  below  that  they  seemed 
to  be  little  larger  than  ants. 

They  had  succeeded,  by  this  time,  in  actually 
digging  to  the  bottom  of  one  of  the  big  pillars; 
and,  when  they  had  freed  its  foot  of  earth,  they 
wound  round  it  the  snakelike  length  of  a  great 
vine,  torn  from  the  jungle.  Seizing  hold  of  either 
end  of  this  improvised  rope,  the  Voodoos  had  no 
difficulty  in  uprooting  the  beam.  As  it  toppled 
and  fell,  the  platform  upon  which  the  monastery 
was  built  shuddered,  as  though  smitten  by  a 
blow. 

In  vain  the  monks  redoubled  their  efforts  to 
harass  the  attacking  party;  but  the  overhang  of 
the  building  acted  as  an  effective  shield  to  the 
negroes,  and  few  of  the  shots  took  effect.  When 
a  second  and  a  third  of  the  great  posts  fell  be 
neath  us,  despair  was  written  plainly  upon  the 
faces  of  the  dumb  defenders.  Their  bravery  dur- 


224  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

ing  the  battle  had  been  all  that  any  soldiers  could 
have  shown.  None  of  them  had  hesitated  at  any 
task  assigned  by  their  leader,  and  all  had  seemed 
willing  enough  to  display  their  forms  above  the 
wooden  wall,  while  heaving  their  ammunition  at 
the  enemy. 

Not  the  least  marvelous  part  of  the  whole  affair, 
to  my  mind,  was  the  fact  that  not  a  word  had  been 
spoken  except  those  uttered  by  Larry,  Norelle, 
and  myself.  Here  were  three  hundred  men,  who 
had  been  fighting  for  their  lives  in  silence.  They 
had  hurled  tons  of  rock  down  upon  their  foes ;  and 
now,  after  the  madness  of  the  conflict  seemed  to 
be  over,  they  were  resigning  themselves  to  defeat 
and  the  loss  of  their  home,  without  a  syllable  es 
caping  their  lips.  The  dumbness  of  their  grief 
made  it  pitiful  to  behold. 

The  eaves  of  the  monastery  now  showed  a  de 
cided  sag  in  the  centre,  and  the  removal  of  only 
two  or  three  more  of  the  posts  must  inevitably 
cause  the  structure  to  break  in  two  and  go  crash 
ing  into  the  chasm. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Smith — Jack — cannot  something  be 
done?"  cried  Norelle,  at  this  juncture,  approaching 
me  with  fear-drawn  face.  "Have  you  not  fire 
arms  with  which  to  disperse  those  negroes?" 

What  did  I  care  whether  the  monastery  fell,  or 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  225 

flew  away  to  the  clouds?  She  had  called  me 
"Jack,"  and  I  was  tempted  to  tell  her  that  the 
Voodoos  might  have  the  house,  and  welcome  to 
it,  if  she  would  only  repeat  the  name.  Instead, 
however,  I  replied : 

"There's  nothing  resembling  firearms  about 
this  place.  Larry  and  I  lost  ours  yesterday.  But 
have  no  fear.  Even  if  they  pull  down  the  build 
ing,  we  can  still  escape  into  the  mountain." 

"Into  the  mountain!"  she  echoed,  in  surprise. 
"How  can  you  get  into  the  mountain?" 

"Easy,  indeed,"  I  replied.  "Back  of  the  monas 
tery  the  monks  have  constructed  a  wonderful  sys 
tem  of  tunnels,  which  extend  for  miles  into  the 
rock.  They  have  their  forges,  their  kitchens, 
their  mines,  and  their  tombs  in  there ;  and  it  would 
be  a  matter  of  little  consequence  if  the  building 
did  fall.  As  far  as  Larry  and  I  have  learned, 
there  are  no  apartments  in  the  house,  except  such 
as  are  used  as  sleeping  and  eating  rooms  and  the 
library." 

"How  wonderful!"  exclaimed  Norelle.  "I  had 
an  idea  that  the  monks  did  nothing  but  pray  to 
the  sun,  or  something  like  that." 

"They  are  the  hardest  workers  you  ever  saw 
in  all  your  life,"  I  said.  "But  there  goes  another 
post.  One  or  two  more  will  finish  the  monastery, 


226  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

and  I  think  we  had  better  be  getting  ready  to 
make  a  dash  for  the  tunnels." 

"Where  is  Mr.  Sullivan !"  asked  Norelle. 

"He  ran  into  the  mountain  a  few  minutes  ago 
— to  fetch  some  new  engine  of  war,  I  believe.  But 
I  fear  that  nothing  can  save  the  monastery  now. 
It  does  seem  a  shame  that  a  structure  which  must 
have  cost  such  tremendous  effort  to  build,  and 
which  has  stood  for  ages,  should  be  torn  down 
by  a  lot  of  ignorant  blacks  within  an  hour  or 
two." 

The  Voodoos  were  evidently  preparing  to  make 
an  assault  upon  three  of  the  posts  at  once.  The 
three  selected  were  grouped  under  the  centre  of 
the  building.  With  machetes,  knives,  and  pointed 
sticks,  they  dug  furiously;  and  the  shrill  voice  of 
the  Yellow  Queen,  who  still  maintained  her  posi 
tion  in  the  cart,  could  be  heard  at  intervals,  urg 
ing  them  on  to  more  rapid  effort.  Some  of  the 
negroes,  who  were  not  digging,  brought  branches 
of  trees,  which  they  held  over  the  backs  of  the 
workers,  to  protect  them  from  the  fragments  of 
ore  and  rock  dropped  by  the  monks. 

Larry  came  from  the  monastery  door,  with  his 
followers,  just  as  I  was  about  to  lead  Norelle  into 
the  tunnel.  He  and  all  his  assistants  were  sweat 
ing  like  haymakers — and  little  wonder,  when  one 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  227 

saw  the  burdens  which  they  had  brought  from 
the  bowels  of  the  mountain. 

Swung  upon  long  bars  of  brass,  supported  at 
either  end  by  five  men  apiece,  were  three  huge 
kettles  of  molten  copper.  Although  we  stood  fully 
twenty  feet  from  the  nearest  pot,  I  could  feel  the 
torrid  breath  from  its  glistening  surface. 

"Bring  on  the  axes,"  cried  Larry,  "and  chop 
some  holes  over  the  spots  where  they  are  digging 
down  below." 

A  dozen  monks  ceased  hurling  rocks,  to  lay  hold 
of  axes  and  obey.  One  big  hole  was  cut  in  the 
floor  of  the  inclosure,  and  two  within  the  building 
itself. 

"That'll  do!"  shouted  Larry,  wiping  the  per 
spiration  from  his  forehead  and  chin.  "Now 
we'll  see  what  we  can  do  toward  making  it  hot  for 
them  down  below." 

Acting  under  his  orders,  the  kettle  bearers 
brought  their  burdens  to  the  apertures  cut  in  the 
floor,  and  let  them  through  carefully.  The  brass 
bars  were  then  resting  on  the  floor ;  and  the  pots, 
filled  with  molten  metal,  were  swinging  under-i 
neath. 

"Now  pull  out  the  bars,"  cried  Larry. 

Three  golden  balls  dropped  through  space,  as 
the  rods  were  pulled  through  the  handles  of  the 


228  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

pots.  They  caught  the  rays  of  the  sun,  and  looked 
like  pretty  toy  balloons,  as  they  plunged  toward 
the  black  diggers,  two  hundred  feet  beneath. 

Two  of  the  kettles  tipped  over  before  they  had 
made  half  the  drop,  and  their  red  contents  had 
spread  out  in  feathery  showers,  fifty  feet  in  diame 
ter,  by  the  time  they  struck  the  Voodoo  people. 

The  third  pot  dropped  true  as  a  plummet, 
landed  in  the  midst  of  the  largest  group  of  dig 
gers,  upset,  and  poured  its  crimson  soup  over 
their  backs. 

A  scream  as  of  lost  souls  in  the  Pit  came  up 
from  the  negroes.  The  leaves  of  their  tree  shields, 
and  the  rags  of  their  garments,  sprang  into  flame, 
to  add  to  the  tortures  inflicted  by  the  spattering, 
molten  copper.  Dozens  of  the  blacks  fell  writhing 
upon  the  ground ;  more  than  a  score  lay  struggling 
in  pools  of  the  liquid  fire ;  while  the  few  who  were 
able  picked  themselves  up,  to  run,  limping  and 
whimpering,  to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  where  Joan 
of  Lazarre  sat  in  her  two-wheeled  carriage  of 
state,  a  frenzied  witness  of  the  havoc  wrought 
among  her  people. 

For  a  moment,  the  Yellow  Queen  stood  upright 
in  the  cart,  transfixed  with  horror.  Then  she 
waved  her  arms  wildly,  and  launched  a  curse 
against  the  monastery  and  all  within  its  walls. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  229 

We  could  not  hear  her  words,  and  might  not  have 
understood  them  had  we  been  able  to  hear;  but 
it  was  easy  to  divine  her  meaning.  Then  she 
gathered  the  remnant  of  her  force  about  her,  and 
harangued  with  the  evident  purpose  of  sending 
them  back  to  the  assault.  But,  from  the  gestures 
made  by  the  black  men  and  women,  it  was  easy 
to  surmise  that  they  refused  to  obey.  All  heart 
for  fight  was  gone  from  them.  At  last,  Joan  gave 
up  the  attempt,  and  ordered  them  to  collect  the 
dead  and  injured. 

Dejectedly,  they  went  to  the  assistance  of  their 
fellows  who  still  lived,  and  bore  them  into  the 
forest  beyond  our  view.  With  rude  stretchers  of 
interwoven  boughs,  they  removed  the  dead,  while 
the  hungry  vultures  from  the  monastery  wheeled 
in  circles  above  their  heads,  in  anticipation  of  a 
horrid  feast. 

When  I  withdrew  my  gaze  from  the  loophole  in 
the  floor,  I  saw  that  Norelle  was  regarding  Larry 
with  horrified  eyes. 

"You  brute!"  she  exclaimed,  at  last,  with  a 
shudder.  "To  think  that  a  white  man  would  be 
responsible  for  a  thing  like  that." 

"Thank  you,"  he  retorted,  with  a  forced  laugh. 
'Til  admit  it  is  a  shabby  trick,  to  pour  hot  copper 
on  the  backs  of  a  crowd ;  but  you  should  not  for- 


230  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

get,  my  little  lady,  that  they  were  trying  good  and 
hard  to  kill  us  all.  And  you  might  also  remember 
that  the  fight  started  over  your  own  sweet  self." 
"I  hate  you!"  she  exclaimed,  with  eyes  ablaze. 
As  she  spoke,  she  placed  her  hand  on  my  arm,  and 
drew  me  to  the  other  side  of  the  inclosure. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

FROM  THE  LIBRARY  WINDOW 

THE  next  two  weeks  were  the  happiest,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  the  most  miserable,  within  my 
recollection.  I  was  in  Norelle's  company  during 
the  better  part  of  each  day — which  in  itself  is 
enough  to  account  for  my  happiness.  But  she  led 
me  such  a  dance,  with  her  whims  and  caprices, 
that  I  was  often  plunged  from  the  seventh  heaven 
of  bliss  to  the  pit  of  despair  three  times  an  hour. 
At  one  moment  she  clung  to  my  arms,  and  gazed 
into  my  eyes  with  all  the  tenderness  of  steadfast 
love ;  at  the  next  she  was  calling  me  "Mr.  Smith," 
and  ordering  me  from  her  presence. 

I  could  have  forgiven  most  of  her  ill  treatment 
by  laying  it  at  the  door  of  overwrought  nerves. 
What  she  had  gone  through,  within  the  last  few 
days,  was  quite  enough  to  upset  the  strongest  and 
cloud  the  sunniest  of  natures.  The  Voodoo  peo 
ple  were  still  threatening  us  from  below,  although 
.they  had  not  renewed  active  hostilities;  and  we 

231 


232  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

momentarily  expected  them  to  emerge  from  the 
jungle,  with  some  new  plan  of  attack. 

We  had  expected  General  and  Mrs.  Pierson  to 
join  us  in  our  exile,  but  had  been  disappointed  in 
this  through  the  occurrence  of  certain  events  in 
St.  Croix.  The  general  and  his  wife  both  wrote 
encouraging  letters  to  Norelle,  but  even  these 
written  words  of  cheer  scarcely  served  to  dispel 
the  gloom  which  the  shadow  of  death  had  cast 
over  the  little  party  in  the  monastery. 

We  learned  that  the  governor-general  had  de 
clared  both  Larry  and  myself  outlaws,  and  had 
placed  a  price  upon  our  heads.  In  his  proclama 
tion  calling  upon  all  true  and  loyal  citizens  to  re 
fuse  us  aid  and  shelter,  and  give  us  up  to  justice, 
we  were  described  as  escaped  murderers  from  the 
United  States  of  America,  and  criminals  danger 
ous  to  the  peace  of  Gabrielle. 

All  these  circumstances,  I  say,  would  have  been 
enough  to  ruffle  the  spirits  of  any  one;  and  I 
should  have  not  complained  had  Norelle  merely 
played  me  hot  and  cold.  But  when  she  deliber 
ately  coquetted  with  one  of  the  monks,  and  caused 
him  to  fall  desperately  in  love  with  her,  I  thought 
it  was  high  time  to  remonstrate,  and  did  so. 

The  monk  in  quesion  was  Pietro,  the  librarian 
— he  of  the  hooked  nose  and  glittering  eyes,  to 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  233 

whom  I  had  taken  such  a  violent  aversion  upon 
first  acquaintance.  Possibly  it  was  because  she 
knew  I  disliked  the  man  that  Norelle  singled  him 
out  for  favor.  If  she  had  sat  out  with  the  deliber 
ate  purpose  of  rendering  me  insanely  jealous,  she 
could  have  chosen  no  surer  or  swifter  method 
than  by  smiling  upon  Pietro. 

More  times  than  I  now  care  to  remember,  I 
found  them  together  in  the  great  hall  of  manu 
scripts,  beside  the  wide  window  overlooking  the 
abyss.  Once,  when  I  entered  the  library,  Pietro 
was  holding  her  hand.  When  he  heard  my  foot 
step,  he  dropped  it,  with  a  guilty  look;  and  No 
relle  blushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  She  avoided 
me  during  the  rest  of  that  day,  but  toward  even 
ing  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  encounter  her  in 
the  hall. 

"There  is  something  about  which  I  should  like 
to  speak  with  you,"  I  said,  planting  myself 
squarely  before  her. 

"But  I  do  not  care  to  speak  with  you,  Mr. 
Smith,"  she  retorted,  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "I 
can  imagine  nothing  from  you  that  would  interest 
me  in  the  least." 

"Nevertheless,  you  shall  hear  me,"  I  went  on. 

"If  you  do  not  let  me  pass,  I  will  scream,"  she 
exclaimed. 


234  THE    HOUSE    ON    STILTS 

"Scream  to  your  heart's  content,"  I  retorted. 
"I  shall  wait  until  you  are  through  screaming, 
and  will  then  have  my  say.  I  will  tell  you,  then, 
if  I  cannot  tell  you  now,  that  you  are  making  the 
saddest  mistake  of  your  life  in  leading  on  that 
fool  of  a  librarian.  I  will  tell  you  that  you  are 
playing  with  a  fire  of  which  you  know  but  little 
— a  fire  that  is  certain  to  burn  you,  if  you  persist. 
Where  do  you  think  your  affair  with  him  will  end  ? 
Will  you  have  him  for  a  husband  ?  Will  you  take 
him,  mutilated  and  tongueless,  back  to  the  States ; 
or  will  you  fly  from  the  monastery  with  him,  pur 
sued  by  the  brethren  whose  vows  he  will  violate, 
to  live  with  him  here  on  the  island,  among  the 
Spaniards  and  negroes?  Where,  I  ask,  is  this 
affair  to  end?" 

"Quite  melodramatic,  Mr.  Smith,"  she  retorted 
saucily.  "I  can  see  you,  at  no  distant  day,  a  most 
successful  writer  of  penny  dreadfuls." 

"Sarcasm  will  not  excuse  you,  Norelle,"  I  cried, 
"and  you  know  it  as  well  as  I.  If  you  will  not 
answer  my  question,  I  will  answer  it  for  you. 
There  can  be  but " 

"You  are  impudent  and  insolent,  Mr.  Smith!" 
she  interrupted  angrily.  "I  am  of  age,  fully  able 
to  take  care  of  myself,  and  will  have  none  of  your 
advice  and  none  of  your  preaching.  If  it  pleases 


THE    HOUSE    ON   STILTS  235 

me  to  spend  an  hour  or  two  a  day  in  the  library, 
I  shall  do  so — and  I  need  no  chaperon,  I  assure 
you.  I  find  Brother  Pietro  a  very  agreeable  com 
panion.  He  has  one  redeeming  quality  which  you 
do  not  possess — he  minds  his  own  business,  and 
keeps  quiet." 

With  this  heartless  shot,  Norelle  turned,  and,, 
entering  her  room,  slammed  the  door.  I  did  not 
see  her  again  that  day. 

The  next  morning,  to  my  surprise  and  gratifica 
tion,  she  was  as  friendly  and  cordial  as  though 
no  cloud  had  ever  passed  between  us. 

Nearly  two  weeks  passed  without  incident  or 
note.  Several  times,  Larry  and  I  descended  to 
the  ground  for  the  purpose  of  reconnoitring ;  and 
on  these  occasions  were  accompanied  by  a  body 
guard  of  monks,  all  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  pro 
vided  with  coats  of  mail  and  helmets,  to  protect 
them  against  the  knives  and  spears  of  the  Voo 
doos.  When  it  was  necessary  for  several  persons 
to  make  the  trip  between  the  earth  and  the  monas 
tery,  the  boatswain's  chair  was  replaced  by  a  cage, 
not  unlike  those  used  in  the  coal  mines  of  the 
States.  The  drum  which  wound  and  unwound  the 
chain  was  turned  by  hand,  the  cogs  and  cranks 
of  the  apparatus  being  concealed  in  the  second 
story  of  the  building.  Although  the  power  was 


236  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

primitive,  the  character  of  the  machinery  was, 
to  my  eyes,  as  up-to-date  as  any  in  a  modern 
machine  shop. 

In  spite  of  my  repugnance  for  Pietro,  I  spent 
considerable  time  in  the  library,  and  within  a  week 
had  learned  much  of  historical  interest  concern 
ing  the  strange  brotherhood  among  whom  we 
were  sojourning. 

According  to  the  ancient  Spanish  manuscripts, 
the  monastery  was  built  upon  the  face  of  the  cliff 
soon  after  Cortez  conquered  Mexico.  Izaquil,  a 
priest  of  the  sun,  had  fled  from  Yucatan  with  four 
faithful  followers.  When  they  reached  the  coast, 
closely  followed  by  their  enemies,  the  five  had  put 
to  sea  in  a  raft.  Before  escaping  from  the 
clutches  of  the  Spaniards,  however,  Izaquil  had 
been  horribly  tortured,  because  he  refused  to  re 
veal  the  location  of  the  treasure  owned  by  the 
priests  in  the  Temple  of  the  Sun.  After  trying  in 
vain  to  compel  him  to  betray  his  trust,  the  Span 
iards  tore  out  his  tongue. 

The  sun  god  conveyed  IzaquiPs  raft  safely  to 
the  Island  of  Gabrielle,  where  he  was,  for  a  time, 
sorely  beset  by  new  foes.  Had  he  not  taken 
refuge  with  his  followers  in  a  great  tree,  to  which 
they  were  led  by  the  sun  god,  the  savage  tribes 
on  the  island  would  surely  have  killed  them ;  and, 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  237 

had  their  patron  deity  even  then  deserted  them, 
the  barbarians  would  have  starved  them  to 
death. 

But,  as  in  all  their  travels,  the  sun  god  had  be 
friended  them,  he  did  not  forsake  them  now,  but 
sent  a  flock  of  condors  to  their  assistance.  These 
great  birds  brought  them  food  for  many  days; 
and  the  savages,  at  last  realizing  that  the  stran 
gers  were  under  the  protection  of  a  powerful 
spirit,  abandoned  the  attack,  and  made  terms  of 
peace  with  Izaquil.  To  signify  their  devotion  to 
their  leader,  Izaquil's  four  faithful  followers  cut 
out  their  tongues;  and  thus  the  sect  of  dumb 
monks  was  founded.  Thereafter,  all  who  joined 
the  brotherhood  were  obliged  to  submit  to  the 
same  terrible  ordeal. 

Since  Izaquil  landed  on  Gabrielle,  the  records 
stated,  no  word  had  ever  passed  the  lips  of  a  wor 
shipper  of  the  sun.  In  remembrance  of  the  aid 
brought  when  they  were  in  such  sore  need,  the 
monks  made  the  condor  a  sacred  bird,  and,  as 
long  as  they  had  been  upon  the  island,  had  fed  the 
vultures  daily. 

In  time,  the  monks  gained  many  recruits;  and 
the  quarters  in  the  great  tree,  although  enlarged 
and  rendered  habitable  by  the  erection  of  a  huge 
structure  among  the  branches,  became  too  small 


238  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

for  the  silent  colony.  So,  they  set  about  building 
the  House  on  Stilts.  Twenty  years  were  con 
sumed  in  this  great  task;  and,  by  the  sun  god's 
favor,  Izaquil  was  spared  to  direct  the  labors  of 
the  builders,  and  to  lead  the  devotions  of  the  sect 
from  the  lofty  platform  facing  east.  He  was  even 
granted  the  supreme  joy,  before  he  departed,  of 
offering  holy  blood  and  ashes  to  the  sun  god  from 
the  rock  of  sacrifice. 

The  marvelous  tunnels  in  the  mountain  were 
also  planned  by  Izaquil ;  and,  although  he  did  not 
live  to  see  them  far  advanced,  the  discovery  of  the 
process  of  preserving  the  dead  'had  been  made 
before  he  went  to  take  his  place  in  the  Chariot  of 
the  Sun.  It  was  also  written  in  the  records  that, 
so  long  as  Izaquil  stood  in  the  great  octagonal 
chamber,  all  would  prosper  with  the  Island  of 
Gabrielle.  But  the  day  which  dawned  and  found 
him  not  with  his  protecting  arms  outstretched 
over  his  faithful  disciples,  would  mark  the  fall  of 
the  monastery,  and  the  triumph  of  the  unholy 
fires  which  smouldered  beneath  the  roots  of  Mont 
Lazarre. 

The  writer  of  the  manuscript  dwelt  at  length 
upon  the  sanctity  of  Izaquil's  life,  and  described 
in  detail  the  manner  in  which  he  offered  sacrifices 
to  the  sun  god  on  the  altar  of  rock,  which  jutted 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  239 

from  the  face  of  the  cliff  eight  or  ten  feet  above 
the  floor  of  the  inclosure  at  one  end  of  the  monas 
tery  building. 

There  were  annual  offerings  of  human  beings, 
it  seems ;  the  council  of  seven  choosing  the  victims 
and  prescribing  the  mode  of  their  death.  Fire 
seemed  to  be  the  favorite  means  employed,  al 
though,  under  certain  conditions,  the  priests  were 
to  cut  the  victims  into  fragments,  and  feed  the 
pieces  to  the  condors. 

This  history  was  but  one  of  many  curious  works 
which  I  found  on  the  shelves  in  the  great  room 
wherein  Pietro  spent  his  days.  He  was  engaged, 
when  we  arrived,  in  making  a  translation  of  one 
of  the  old  books  of  law  which  Izaquil  had  written 
for  the  guidance  of  his  followers ;  and  I  must  say 
for  him  that  he  was  a  rapid  and  beautiful  pen 
man.  As  to  the  accuracy  of  his  translations  from 
the  ancient  Aztec  I  know  not,  although  he  was 
accounted  the  most  deeply  versed  of  any  in  the 
brotherhood,  and  was  often  consulted  by  Xaca, 
the  high  priest.  I  was  not  surprised,  therefore, 
to  learn  that  he  exercised  a  powerful  influence 
over  the  old  man;  and,  as  the  high  priest's  word 
was  law  under  the  monastery  roof  and  in  the  tun 
nel  workshops,  Pietro  was  surely  a  man  whose 
good  will  was  worth  possessing. 


240  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

We  soon  became  fairly  proficient  in  communi 
cating  with  the  monks  by  signs;  and,  when  we 
wished  to  ask  questions,  or  desired  replies  which 
the  hand  and  head  were  unable  to  convey,  we 
found  that  most  of  them  wrote  and  read  a  fair 
sample  of  Spanish.  We,  therefore,  carried  writ 
ing  pads  with  us  when  we  went  about  the  monas 
tery  or  caverns,  and  got  along  quite  comfortably. 

One  day — it  was  the  sixteenth  after  our  coming 
— I  entered  the  room  of  manuscripts,  and  found 
it  empty.  The  ever-present  Pietro  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen,  so  I  helped  myself  to  one  of  the  old 
Spanish  records,  and  pored  over  it  for  an  hour. 
Wearying  of  the  study,  I  replaced  the  copper  tube 
upon  the  shelf,  and  walked  to  the  window,  where 
I  stood  for  some  time,  lost  in  contemplation  of  the 
magnificent  scene  spread  out  before  my  eyes. 

The  day  was  glorious  overhead,  and,  with  its 
foreground  of  tropic  verdure  and  background  of 
towering  mountains,  it  was  none  the  less  mag 
nificent  below.  Mont  Lazarre  was  belching  srnoke 
like  a  battle  ship  getting  under  way.  Indeed,  I 
had  never  seen  Father  Mountain  show  such  vio 
lent  signs  of  activity ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  bright 
ness  of  the  day,  I  was  sure  I  could  see  the  glare 
of  fire  bronzing  the  smoke  where  it  poured  from 
the  crater's  mouth. 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  241 

A  stealthy  footfall  struck  my  ear,  as  I  stood 
gazing  out  of  the  window;  and  instinctively  I 
whirled  around.  Pietro  was  standing  behind  me 
in  a  half -crouching  attitude,  his  long  fingers  work 
ing  convulsively,  and  his  face  distorted  with  hate. 
The  moment  I  turned,  he  straightened  up,  and  a 
smile  replaced  the  scowl  upon  his  evil  face. 

"You  were  going  to  push  me  out  of  the  win 
dow,  you  hound!"  I  blazed. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  a  deprecating 
way,  and  shook  his  head,  while  he  smiled  curi 
ously.  Then  he  reached  for  my  pad,  and  wrote: 
"See  Mont  Lazarre.  Trouble  is  coming." 

"By  Gad!"  I  exclaimed.  "If  I  had  not  heard 
you  behind  me,  you'd  have  ended  my  troubles  by 
dropping  me  out  of  the  window." 

"You  are  mistaken !"  he  wrote  on  the  pad. 

"There's  no  use  in  arguing  the  thing,"  I  said. 
"But  I'll  keep  a  sharp  watch  on  you  after  this, 
my  friend." 

I  told  Norelle  and  Larry  of  what  I  believed  to 
be  my  narrow  escape  from  death,  and  Larry 
agreed  with  me  that  the  librarian  would  bear 
watching.  Norelle,  on  the  contrary,  hurried  to 
his  defense. 

"The  excitement  has  preyed  on  your  nerves, 
Mr.  Smith,"  she  exclaimed.  "I'd  take  something 


242  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

for  it,  if  I  were  you.  Go  to  the  apothecary,  and 
get  some  bromide." 

"I  thought  you'd  side  with  him,"  I  retorted  bit 
terly. 

"Isn't  it  possible  that  you  are  angry  with  him 
because  I  prefer  his  company  to  yours,  at  times?" 
she  asked. 

"Nothing  of  the  kind!"  I  replied.  "I'd  distrust 
any  man  whom  I  found  sneaking  up  behind  me, 
with  his  body  bent  for  a  spring,  and  his  hands 
outstretched." 

"Nerves — nerves — only  nerves!"  she  laughed. 
Then,  turning  to  Larry,  she  suggested  that  he 
should  take  her  to  the  copper  foundry. 

I  was  evidently  dismissed,  and  walked  moodily 
out  of  the  monastery  to  the  yard,  where  I  stood 
for  some  time,  gazing  at  the  smoking  mountain  in 
the  distance.  I  had  been  there  possibly  ten  min 
utes,  when  there  was  a  whirring  of  wings  above 
my  head.  Looking  quickly  upward,  I  beheld  one 
of  the  condors  wheeling  in  narrowing  circles 
toward  me.  At  first,  I  thought  the  great  bird  was 
preparing  for  an  attack,  and  glanced  hastily 
around  for  a  weapon.  Before  I  could  pick  up  any 
thing,  however,  the  condor  dropped  at  my  feet, 
and  I  saw  that  a  roll  of  white  paper  was  attached 
to  his  right  leg. 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  243 

To  stoop  and  cut  the  string  which  held  the 
little  cylinder  to  his  horny  shank  was  the  work 
of  an  instant.  The  condor  at  once  flew  to  the  top 
of  the  fence,  and  then  sailed  off  into  the  jungle. 
First  looking  cautiously  around,  to  make  sure  that 
no  one  was  in  sight,  I  unrolled  the  paper,  and  read 
the  following  mystifying  message : 

One  who  loves  you  from  the  dead  past  warns 
you  to  beware  of  the  librarian.  If  you  would  save 
your  own  love  from  a  fate  worse  than  death,  seize 
and  destroy  the  book  of  laws. 

Instinctively,  I  swept  the  monastery  roof  and 
the  towering  cliff  with  my  eyes,  hoping  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  person  who  had  sent  the  carrier 
bird  to  me.  Perhaps  my  imagination  conjured 
the  form  of  a  monk,  leaning  over  the  rock,  a  thou 
sand  feet  above  my  head.  Perhaps  the  figure 
stood  there  for  the  briefest  part  of  a  second.  If 
it  did,  it  disappeared  like  a  fleeting  shadow.  I 
thrust  the  paper  into  my  pocket  as  quickly  as  pos 
sible,  and  went  about  with  a  sinking  heart  during 
the  rest  of  the  day. 

Was  Norelle  in  real  danger,  I  asked  myself  a 
thousand  times?  If  so,  what  was  the  peril  that 
threatened  her?  And  who  was  the  one  that  loved 
me  "from  the  dead  past." 


244  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

At  the  first  opportunity,  I  showed  the  writing 
to  Larry. 

"The  little  girl  is  in  danger,  and  that's  enough 
for  us,"  he  exclaimed,  his  Hibernian  fighting 
blood  at  once  warming  to  the  boiling  point,  "and 
it's  plain  as  day  what  we've  got  to  do." 

"What— get  the  book  of  laws?"  I  asked. 

"Sure  thing,"  he  replied.  "But  how  the  devil 
are  we  going  to  get  it?  Where  do  you  suppose 
the  horse  thief  keeps  the  pesky  book?" 

It  was  a  question  which  I  was  not  prepared  to 
answer,  nor  had  I  any  ideas  to  suggest.  The  up 
shot  of  the  matter  was  that  Larry  and  I  both  be 
came  insatiate  readers  of  manuscripts  in  the  li 
brary  for  the  next  two  days  One  or  the  other  of 
us  was  in  the  great  hall  every  instant;  but,  to 
our  intense  chagrin,  we  could  find  no  trace 
of  the  book  of  laws.  This  was  the  volume  which 
Pietro  had  been  translating  when  we  came; 
but  immediately  our  search  for  it  began,  both 
the  ancient  Aztec  parchment  and  the  translated 
sheets  were  concealed  by  the  black-browed 
monk. 

"Perhaps  he  has  finished  the  job,"  I  suggested 
to  Larry,  at  the  end  of  the  second  day  of  dis 
couragement. 

"Not  at  all  likely.     He  smells  a  mice,"  replied 


THE    HOUSE    ON   STILTS  245 

Sullivan.  "I  suppose  all  we  can  do  is  to  lie  low 
and  wait." 

Nor  had  we  long  to  wait  for  startling  develop 
ments. 

On  the  second  night  afterward,  I  was  awakened 
by  a  hand  upon  my  forehead.  When  I  opened  my 
eyes,  I  found  the  room  almost  as  light  as  day 
from  the  rays  of  the  moon  shining  into  the  win 
dow.  A  monk,  hooded  and  gowned,  stood  beside 
my  couch. 

"Who  are  you?"  I  gasped,  after  conquering  my 
first  impulse  to  awaken  Larry,  who  was  snoring 
loudly  not  ten  feet  distant. 

The  monk  shook  his  head. 

"Are  you  the  one  who  knew  me  in  the  dead 
past?"  I  asked,  remembering  the  strange  phrase 
in  the  message  brought  to  me  by  the  condor. 

This  time  the  monk  inclined  his  head.  As  he 
did  so,  he  held  out  his  hand.  I  stretched  mine 
forth,  expecting  to  meet  his  in  friendly  clasp ;  but, 
instead,  I  received  a  little  roll  of  paper.  As  soon 
as  my  fingers  closed  around  it,  the  monk  glided 
from  the  room,  and  I  was  left  staring,  open- 
mouthed  and  open-eyed,  at  the  moonlight.  With 
the  aid  of  a  match — for  the  writing  was  too 
faint  to  be  deciphered  in  the  moonbeams — I 
read: 


246  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

Too  late.  Xaca  has  the  law.  Flee  with  the  one 
you  love. 

I  aroused  Larry,  and  read  him  the  message. 
He  was  quite  as  much  mystified,  even  if  not  as 
much  alarmed,  as  myself. 

"Well,  suppose  he  has  the  law — what  of  it?"  he 
asked.  "I'm  willing  that  he  have  all  the  law  he 
wants.  He  can't  get  too  much  law  for  me.  But 
what  I  don't  tumble  to  is,  how  the  devil  old  Xaca 
having  the  law  cuts  any  ice  with  us." 

"I  suppose  we'll  see,  one  of  these  days,"  I  re 
plied,  "if  we  don't  follow  our  friend's  advice,  and 
move.  It's  all  right  for  him  to  tell  me  to  run  away 
with  the  young  lady ;  but  if  I  can't  get  away,  how 
the  mischief  am  I  going  to  flee?" 

"The  elevator  won't  run  without  the  assistance 
of  half  a  dozen  of  the  monks,"  said  Larry.  "If 
you'll  tell  me  how  we  can  get  down  without  the 
lift,  you'll  be  a  wonder." 

"I'm  no  wonder,"  I  admitted  sadly.  "About 
the  only  thing  I  can  suggest  is  to  catch  half  a 
dozen  of  the  condors,  and  make  them  take  us  to 
earth.  It  might  be  rather  risky,  but  I  think  it 
would  work." 

"Fine  plan!"  sneered  Larry.  "And,  when  you 
got  down  to  the  bottom,  what  would  happen? 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  247 

Why,  the  Yellow  Queen  and  her  little  black  boys 
would  chop  you  into  bits,  and  eat  you  for  dinner. 
Don't  forget  that  the  yellow  lady  is  still  waiting 
for  you  down  there.  I  believe  she  has  hopes  of 
marrying  you  yet,  Jack." 

"We  might  hitch  up  enough  bird  power  to 
carry  us  a  long  way  off,"  I  went  on,  loath  to  aban 
don  the  idea  of  the  living  air  ship. 

"And  be  dumped  into  the  crater  of  Mont  La- 
zarre,  or  into  the  Caribbean.  Excuse  me  from 
any  such  scheme  as  that,"  said  Larry.  "I  guess 
I'll  run  my  chances  where  I  am  now.  If  some 
thing's  going  to  happen  to  me,  I  want  it  to  take 
place  when  my  feet  are  on  dry  land." 

"They  are  some  distance  from  dry  land  now," 
I  remarked. 

"Well,  they're  dry,  anyway,"  exclaimed  Larry; 
"and  this  board  floor  is  a  pretty  good  imitation  of 
earth." 

It  was  midafternoon  of  the  day  following,  and 
I  was  wandering  about  the  monastery  inclosure, 
greatly  depressed  in  spirits.  I  had  not  slept  for 
a  moment,  the  night  before,  and  was  almost  un 
nerved.  The  mysterious  warnings  had  preyed 
upon  my  mind  to  such  an  extent  that  I  would  have 
welcomed  almost  any  real  physical  danger,  as  a 
relief  from  the  strain  of  waiting  for  that  which, 


248  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

as  yet,  had  no  form  or  substance.  Sullivan,  on 
the  contrary,  had  slept  all  night  as  soundly  and 
peacefully  as  a  child.  His  life  on  the  plains  and 
on  the  police  force  had  instilled  into  him  a  con 
tempt  for  danger  which  I  would  have  given 
worlds  to  possess.  Besides  that,  Larry  had  no 
nerves.  Moreover,  he  was  not  head  over  ears  in 
love  with  the  girl  whom  danger  threatened. 

In  my  walk,  I  passed  from  end  to  end  of  the 
monastery  yard,  and,  as  usual,  found  the  place  de 
serted.  All  the  monks  were  busy  with  their  vari 
ous  vocations,  and  I  thought  to  myself  how  easy 
it  would  have  been  then  for  the  Yellow  Queen's 
people  to  have  stormed  the  lofty  fortress.  They 
would  have  had  ample  time  to  scale  the  high  posts, 
and  overrun  the  place,  before  the  monks  could 
have  been  summoned  from  their  work  in  the  tun 
nels.  During  my  solitary  promenade,  I  walked 
several  times  beneath  the  rock  of  sacrifice,  which 
I  had  seen  mentioned  in  the  ancient  writings,  and 
as  none  of  the  monks  were  about  to  resent  my 
curiosity,  I  seized  upon  the  occasion  thus  offered 
to  make  an  inspection. 

The  rock  was  a  peculiar  formation,  some  ten 
feet  square,  jutting  out  from  the  face  of  the  cliff 
like  a  mantel  or  bracket  shelf  from  the  wall  of  a 
room.  In  thickness  the  shelf  was  about  two  feet ; 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  249 

it  had  been  planed  and  shaven  by  the  elements  of 
the  ages  until  its  sides  were  as  smooth  as  though 
sand-papered.  A  well-constructed  stairway  of 
planks  made  ascent  easy  from  the  floor  of  the  in- 
closure,  and  I  stood  upon  the  rock  within  half 
a  minute  after  I  had  taken  the  notion  into  my 
head. 

If  I  had  expected  to  discover  any  gruesome 
signs  of  the  human  sacrifices  which,  in  times  gone 
by,  had  been  offered  upon  that  ancient  altar,  I 
was  doomed  to  disappointment.  The  winds  and 
rains  had  washed  all  vestiges  of  ashes  from  the 
ledge,  and  beyond  some  dark  stains,  which  might 
have  been  caused  by  blood,  or  might  have  been 
the  mark  of  some  mineral  agent  in  the  rock  when 
it  was.  formed,  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen.  I 
quickly  descended  the  stairs,  and  resumed  my 
moody  pacing  of  the  yard. 

Twice  I  made  the  circuit  of  the  building,  and 
was  about  to  start  on  another,  when  I  halted,  with 
every  nerve  tense,  and  my  heart  almost  at  a  stand 
still. 

I  had  heard  from  above  a  sound  which  I  verily 
believe  would  arouse  me  from  my  grave.  It  was 
the  sound  of  Norelle  sobbing. 

Looking  swiftly  around  and  above,  I  found  that 
the  sobbing  came  from  the  overhanging  gable 


250  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

window  of  the  library.  Then  I  dashed  into  the 
monastery,  and  up  the  stairs. 

As  I  reached  the  top  of  the  steps,  my  sweet 
heart  cried  again,  and  this  time,  I  was  sure,  she 
called  my  name. 

The  door  of  the  library  was  shut  and  bolted.  A 
crevice,  two  or  three  inches  in  width  at  the  top 
of  the  door,  caused  by  the  warping  of  the  struc 
ture  when  the  Voodoos  made  their  attack,  allowed 
the  sounds  of  an  awful  struggle  to  reach  my  ears. 

I  dashed  my  full  weight  against  the  door,  but 
it  would  not  yield. 

Swearing,  crying,  grinding  my  teeth,  I  raced 
down  the  hallway,  looking  for  some  implement  of 
destruction — some  axe  or  hammer,  with  which  to 
beat  in  the  door. 

At  the  turn  of  the  corridor,  beside  a  window,  I 
found  a  copper  flower  pot.  How  I  lifted  it  I  know 
not.  It  must  have  weighed,  with  its  earthen  con 
tents,  more  than  a  hundredweight,  but  I  seized  it 
with  the  frantic  strength  of  desperation,  and  stag 
gered  back  to  the  library  door. 

I  do  not  remember  lifting  the  weight  above  my 
head,  or  hurling  it  against  the  timbers  of  the 
door;  nor  do  I  remember  how  the  stout  boards 
crashed  inward,  or  how  I  burst  into  the  room 
after  the  great  copper  pot. 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  251 

But,  Lord  help  me!  I  do  remember  the  sight 
which  then  met  my  eyes — my  love,  Norelle,  strug 
gling  in  the  arms  of  that  brute,  the  librarian. 

Like  an  avenging  angel,  I  fell  upon  him,  and  my 
fingers  closed  about  his  throat.  The  poor  girl 
swooned  at  that  moment,  with  my  name  upon 
her  lips. 

Like  a  tiger  robbed  of  his  prey,  Pietro  met  my 
attack,  and  I  realized  in  an  instant  that  he  was 
more  than  my  match  in  strength.  But  I  found 
that  I  could  outbox  him,  and,  releasing  my  grip 
upon  his  throat,  when  I  knew  that  he  would  surely 
overpower  me,  I  felled  him  with  a  blow  in  the  eye. 
He  was  up  again,  and  at  me,  like  a  flash,  his  long 
arms  thrust  out  to  catch  and  twine  around  me  like 
the  coils  of  a  boa  constrictor.  Again  I  brought 
him  to  the  floor,  and  again  he  leaped  up  to  renew 
the  combat.  My  foot  struck  against  the  side  of  a 
table,  and,  before  I  knew  what  had  happened,  I 
was  down,  and  he  was  on  top  of  me. 

I  expected  him  to  try  to  throttle  me,  as  I  had 
attacked  him;  but,  instead,  he  threw  his  arms 
around  my  body,  and  began  dragging  me  toward 
the  window. 

In  an  instant,  I  saw  his  design.  He  would  throw 
me  into  space. 

Have  you  ever  fought  for  your  life  ?    Have  yoq 


252  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

ever  battled  with  a  power  stronger  than  yours, 
and  felt  yourself  dragged,  inch  by  inch,  foot  by 
foot,  toward  certain  death?  Have  you  put  forth 
every  muscle,  every  ounce  of  strength,  until  the 
veins  in  your  forehead  stood  out  like  ropes,  and 
your  heart  seemed  about  to  burst,  yet  all  to  no 
avail  ? 

I  saw  the  big  hall  of  manuscripts  slip  by  me, 
and  the  yawning  window  approach.  Now  we 
were  within  four  feet  of  the  sill — now  three — 
now  two.  Now  he  is  raising  me,  in  another  mo 
ment  the  struggle  will  be  over,  and  he  will  be 
alone  with  Norelle. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  horror  of  the  thought  that 
gave  me  back  my  wits,  that  put  new  steel  into  my 
arms  and  caused  me  to  remember  a  certain  jiu- 
jitsu  hold,  which  I  had  learned  when  the  fad  was 
at  its  height  in  the  States.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
way  in  which  he  extended  his  claw-like  fingers, 
for  an  instant,  while  shifting  his  hold  to  lift  me 
to  the  window  ledge. 

Like  a  flash,  I  clutched  the  long  fingers,  bent 
them  upon  his  hand,  swung  his  arm  around  to  his 
back,  then  up,  up  to  the  nape  of  his  neck,  until 
the  shoulder  bones  cracked  and  he  uttered  a  whine 
of  pain.  He  clutched  wildly  at  the  air  with  his 
free  hand,  while  trying  to  release  the  agonizing 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  253 

hold,  and  then  fell  limp  as  a  rag  upon  the  sill,  as 
I  dislocated  his  shoulder. 

Then  I  raised  him  clear  of  the  window,  and 
pushed  him  over.  I  watched  him  turning  odd 
somersaults  in  the  air  until  he  landed,  no  larger 
than  a  good-sized  pin,  all  in  a  heap  at  the  foot  of 
one  of  the  pillars. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  CAVE  OF  REPENTANCE 

XACA  and  several  of  his  monks  rushed  into  the 
room,  two  minutes  after  the  librarian's  spinning 
body  struck  the  ground.  I  was  trying  vainly  to 
comfort  Norelle,  who  had  revived,  in  the  mean 
time,  sufficiently  to  witness  the  tragic  end  of  the 
struggle.  Larry  strode  into  the  library  on  the 
heels  of  the  monks,  and  at  once  divined  the  situa 
tion. 

"The  hooknosed  gentleman  went  out  that  way, 
I  presume,"  he  said,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  in 
the  direction  of  the  window. 

"He  did,"  I  replied.  "It  had  to  be  one  of  us,  you 
know." 

"What  started  it?" 

"I  heard  Miss  Pierson  scream,  came  up,  found 
the  door  bolted,  and  then  broke  in,"  I  replied. 

Norelle  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  sobbed 
pitifully. 

"I  see,"  said  Larry.  "If  I  was  a  lawyer  up  in 
the  States,  I'd  say  you  had  a  mighty  good  case. 

254 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  255 

As  we  don't  happen  to  be  in  the  States,  however, 
I'll  reserve  my  decision." 

Xaca  and  his  brethren  had,  in  the  meantime, 
gone  to  the  window,  and  assured  themselves  of 
'  Pietro's  fate.  The  high  priest  then  evidently  gave 
orders  for  the  recovery  of  the  librarian's  body; 
for  two  of  the  monks  left  the  room,  and  soon  after 
ward  we  heard  the  creaking  of  the  windlass. 
Xaca  then  held  a  consultation  with  his  subordin 
ates  at  the  other  end  of  the  hall. 

"I  suppose  I'm  in  for  it,  now,"  I  said.  "But  I 
could  not  have  done  otherwise.  It  was  his  life 
or  mine." 

"Now,  don't  you  be  after  worrying,  Jack,  my 
boy,"  exclaimed  Larry  cheerfully.  "They  won't 
lay  hands  on  you,  if  they  know  what's  healthy 
for  'em." 

The  high  priest  concluded  the  conference,  ap 
proached  us,  and  produced  a  writing  pad,  upon 
which  he  penciled  a  few  lines.  Tearing  off  the 
sheet,  he  handed  it  to  me. 

You  have  taken  the  life  of  a  priest  of  the  sun. 
Prepare  to  appear  before  the  council  of  seven. 

"Where,  and  when?"  I  asked.  "And  if  I  do 
appear,  will  I  be  given  a  fair  trial?" 


256  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

"The  council  will  weigh  your  justification/'  he 
wrote  in  reply.  "You  will  appear  before  the 
council  when  the  sun  god  is  at  the  zenith  to 
morrow.  Go  to  the  hall  of  the  sacred  dead  at  the 
appointed  hour,  and  you  will  find  a  priest  who  will 
conduct  you  to  the  hall  of  justice." 

More  than  that  I  was  unable  to  extract  from 
the  old  man.  What  the  council  of  seven  was 
likely  to  do  with  my  case,  I  could  but  conjecture; 
and  the  result  of  my  speculation  was  anything 
but  pleasant.  I  conjured  up  pictures  of  torture 
chambers  and  dungeon  cells,  and  saw  myself  im 
mured  for  years,  if  not  for  life,  deep  in  the  copper 
caverns. 

Norelle,  on  the  verge  of  a  nervous  breakdown, 
went  to  her  room,  and  Larry  and  I  walked  gloom 
ily  out  into  the  monastery  yard.  Certain  that  we 
could  not  escape  from  the  monastery  or  the  tun 
nels,  the  monks  paid  no  heed  to  our  movements, 
and  we  were  left  to  our  own  resources  during  the 
remainder  of  the  day. 

"I  am  for  making  a  fight,"  asserted  Larry,  af 
ter  we  had  canvassed  the  situation  at  length.  "If 
I  was  you,  I  wouldn't  go  a  step  toward  the  hall  of 
justice.  From  all  I've  seen  of  halls  of  justice, 
the  under  dog  always  gets  the  worst  of  it.  You're 
the  under  dog  in  this  case,  because  that  man  Pete, 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  257 

or  whatever  they  called  him,  has  probably  got  a 
lot  of  friends  in  the  court." 

"But  maybe  I'll  get  a  fair  trial,"  I  said.  "From 
all  I've  seen  of  these  monks,  they  are  far  in  ad 
vance  of  a  great  many  civilized  communities. 
Why  isn't  it  possible  that  they  will  administer  jus 
tice  as  well  as  they  follow  other  civilized  voca 
tions?" 

"Because  they're  heathens,  that's  because,"  re 
plied  Larry  emphatically.  "A  gang  of  grown-up 
men  that  worship  chickens  or  turkeys  like  they  do, 
and  go  out  of  mornings  to  turn  themselves  inside 
out  when  the  sun  rises,  must  be  wrong  in  the  up 
per  story.  My  opinion  is  that  they  are  all  bug 
house,  and  if  you  stand  trial  before  their  council 
of  seven,  or  whatever  they  call  their  supreme 
court,  you're  going  to  get  the  worst  of  it." 

"What  would  you  do?"  I  asked. 

"I'd  put  up  a  scrap — kill  off  a  few  dozen  of  the 
duffers  in  their  bathrobes — and  make  a  quick  get 
away." 

"Suppose  we  got  away  from  here — where  would 
we  go?"  I  asked.  "We  can't  go  back  to  St.  Croix 
without  falling  into  the  clutches  of  Varney.  We 
can't  take  refuge  anywhere  else  in  the  country, 
because  of  the  Yellow  Queen." 

"I'd  rather  be  in  either  place  than  here,  where 


258  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

you  can't  leave  the  house  without  looking  up  the 
head  teacher  and  asking  permission,"  replied  Sul 
livan.  "That's  what  galls  me  most  up  here.  It's 
too  much  like  being  in  jail." 

"I  think  I'll  wait  and  see  what  happens,"  I  de 
cided  finally.  "I  am  likely  to  get  a  fair  trial,  and 
be  freed  as  soon  as  they  hear  my  testimony.  Af 
ter  the  kind  treatment  I  have  received  from  Xaca 
and  the  other  monks,  I'd  hate  to  fight  them  as 
enemies.  If  I  do  not  get  a  fair  trial,  and  anything 
serious  is  threatened,  we  can  still  put  up  the 
fight." 

The  windlass  began  to  revolve  as  we  finished 
the  discussion,  and  soon  the  copper  basket  was 
lifted  over  the  wall.  I  shuddered,  in  spite  of  my 
self,  to  see  the  burden  it  brought  aloft — two 
priests  living,  and  one  dead.  The  last  was  noth 
ing  more  than  a  shapeless  mass  of  shattered 
bones  and  torn  garments.  The  monks  lifted  the 
remains  over  the  edge  of  the  basket,  and  carried 
the  gruesome  load  into  the  monastery. 

"I'd  like  to  have  you  answer  me  one  question," 
said  Larry. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"How  the  deuce  they  are  going  to  make  a  piece 
of  copper  plate  out  of  him  ?" 

"I  wish  you  would  quit  talking  r,bout  the  dsad !" 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  259 

I  cried  angrily.  "You  have  gone  mad  on  the  sub 
ject  of  those  horrible  statues.  Can't  you  see  that 
even  a  hint  of  the  subject  is  enough  to  drive  me 
to  distraction?  How  am  I  going  to  keep  up  my 
nerves  when  you  are  continually  harping  on  such 
things?" 

"Forgive  me,  old  fellow,"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
didn't  mean  any  harm.  I  was  just  trying  to  cheer 
you  up." 

"Graveyards  and  corpses  are  not  cheering 
themes,  just  now,"  I  exclaimed. 

As  the  afternoon  sun  slanted  over  the  crest  of 
Mont  Lazarre,  Larry  and  I  noted  the  fact  that 
the  crater  was  belching  forth  a  greater  volume  of 
smoke  than  usual.  Not  only  was  it  smoking,  but, 
in  addition  to  the  smudge,  lurid  tongues  of  fire 
shot  from  the  funnels  at  intervals  of  every  two 
or  three  minutes,  and  an  almost  continuous  rum 
bling  came  from  the  roots  of  the  mountain. 

These  reverberations  seemed  to  travel  through 
the  earth  along  the  ridges  of  the  mountains,  which 
formed  the  backbone  of  the  island.  Once  in  a 
while  there  would  be  a  louder,  sharper  detona 
tion  than  usual,  as  though  the  underground  army 
had  forsaken  its  drums  for  its  cannon,  and  was 
now  bombarding  the  enemy,  instead  of  beating 
the  dead  march.  When  these  heavier  explosions 


260  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

took  place,  the  monastery,  and  the  cliff  against 
which  it  was  built,  trembled  perceptibly. 

"If  Mont  Lazarre  cuts  up  many  more  pranks, 
I'd  rather  be  up  in  the  States  than  on  the  island," 
observed  Larry. 

"They  say  that  the  volcano  has  not  been  active 
for  hundreds  of  years,"  I  said.  "It  has  periods 
of  semi-activity,  like  that  you  see  now,  but  it  has 
never  been  known  to  do  any  real  damage." 

How  I  spent  the  remainder  of  that  day,  I  do 
not  know.  I  may  have  eaten,  but  I  do  not  remem 
ber  going  to  the  table;  I  may  have  talked  with 
Larry  or  some  of  the  monks,  but  do  not  recall  the 
circumstance.  Much  of  the  time  I  passed  in  a 
monotonous  walk  up  and  down  the  length  of  the 
monastery  yard,  watching  the  condors  as  they 
wheeled  a  thousand  feet  above,  or  fixing  my 
vacant  eyes  upon  the  fiery  funnel  of  Mont 
Lazarre. 

Norelle  crept  from  her  room,  in  the  afternoon, 
and  joined  me.  What  few  broken  sentences  passed 
between  us  are  of  no  consequence.  Our  hearts 
were  too  full  for  speech ;  but  we  realized  that  we 
loved  each  other,  and  that  the  span  of  our  affec 
tion  might  be  brief.  I  remember  that  she  asked 
me  if  I  would  forgive  her ;  and  when  I  swore  that 
she  had  done  nothing  which  needed  forgiveness, 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  261 

she  burst  into  a  torrent  of  tears,  and  said  she  was 
the  wickedest  woman  in  all  the  world. 

I  did  my  best  to  convince  her  that  Pietro  and  I 
were  bound  to  have  come  to  blows  sooner  or  later, 
and  that  her  participation  in  the  affair  had  only 
hastened  the  end. 

"Oh,  why  did  I  ever  come  to  this  horrible 
place?"  she  sobbed.  "And  if  I  had  to  come  to  the 
island,  why  did  they  not  let  me  fall  into  the  hands 
of  the  Voodoos,  and  receive  my  punishment? 
Then,  at  least,  I  would  not  have  caused  that  man's 
death,  and  your  unjust  trial." 

"You  talk  as  though  I  had  been  sentenced  to 
punishment,"  I  expostulated.  "I  am  not  going  to 
suffer — mark  my  words.  I'm  coming  out  of  this 
all  right,  and  we'll  be  happy  yet." 

As  the  darkness  gathered,  and  we  walked 
toward  the  door  of -the  monastery,  several  of  the 
condors  came  sailing  down  from  the  heights  and 
alighted  on  the  great,  flat  rock  that  jutted  from 
the  cliff.  They  ranged  themselves  in  a  row  along 
the  front  of  the  rock,  and,  in  the  twilight  gloom, 
looked  like  solemn  judges  sitting  on  the  bench. 

"There  are  seven  of  them,"  exclaimed  Norelle. 

"It's  the  council  of  seven,"  I  said,  laughing 
grimly  at  the  idea,  "and  they  have  decided  to  go 
to  sleep  on  the  rock  of  sacrifice." 


262  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

At  noon  on  the  following  day,  I  proceeded  to 
the  hall  of  the  copper  statues,  going  unattended 
and  unarmed.  Larry  would  have  gone  with  me, 
but  I  urged  him  to  remain  with  Norelle.  "Her 
safety  is  more  to  me  than  life  itself,"  I  said.  "I 
know  you  will  take  good  care  of  her,  if  I  do  not 
return." 

"But  why  not  make  our  stand  now?"  exclaimed 
Larry.  "The  two  of  us  can  put  up  a  better  fight, 
now,  than  I  can  by  myself,  after  they  have  put 
the  bracelets  on  you.  Don't  be  after  going  a  step, 
my  lad." 

"They  are  not  going  to  do  me  any  harm,  old 
partner,"  I  reassured  him.  "If  we  kick  up  a  rum 
pus,  they'd  be  pretty  sure  to  make  trouble.  So 
just  be  quiet,  and  await  developments.  I  trust  in 
the  fairness  and  justice  of  Xaca,  and  I  feel  con 
fident  that  my  trust  is  not  misplaced." 

"I  don't  like  his  whiskers,"  was  Larry's  ir 
reverent  reply. 

The  parting  from  Norelle  was  not  so  easy.  Tn 
spite  of  all  her  attempts  to  be  brave,  she  burst 
into  tears,  and  flung  herself  into  my  arms,  mean 
while  calling  herself  a  murderess.  As  I  kissed  her 
wet  cheeks  and  trembling  lips,  and  attempted  to 
utter  a  few  hopeful  words,  I  could  almost  have 
blessed  the  fate  which  had  given  me  my  love  at 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  263 

last.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  kissed  her, 
and  the  first  time  she  was  ever  in  my  arms,  a  will 
ing  prisoner.  Slowly  I  loosened  the  fingers  which 
vainly  tried  to  detain  me,  kissed  her  once  more, 
and  went  into  the  tunnel  of  the  copper  lamps. 

As  I  now  look  back  upon  the  events  of  that  day, 
it  seems  as  though  I  must  have  dreamed  them. 
They  fill  a  niche  in  my  memory  like  some  horri 
ble  creation  of  delirium — fantastic,  grotesque, 
weird,  and  unreal,  yet  seared  into  my  brain  with 
letters  of  fire,  which  time  will  never  efface.  I 
would  dismiss  the  subject  with  a  paragraph,  if 
I  could;  for  even  now,  after  the  lapse  of  years, 
as  I  look  back  upon  that  trial  in  the  low-vaulted 
chamber,  the  sombre  figures  of  the  council  of 
seven  arise  to  chill  my  blood. 

When  I  reached  the  chamber  of  the  copper 
statues,  I  found  a  monk  awaiting  me.  His  face 
was  unfamiliar,  but  he  bowed  as  though  we  had 
met  before,  and  I  returned  the  salutation.  Then 
he  led  the  way  down  one  of  the  tunnels,  and  I 
took  step  beside  him.  After  we  had  proceeded 
a  distance  of  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  he 
stopped  in  front  of  a  huge  brazen  door,  and 
knocked  three  times.  The  massive  metal  portal 
swung  silently  inward,  and  I  entered. 

My  footsteps  sounded  hollow  and  strange,  and 


264  THE    HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

awoke  sepulchral  echoes  in  the  far  corners  of  the 
hall,  within  which  my  trial  was  to  be  held. 

Advancing  to  the  middle  of  the  chamber,  I  dis 
cerned  the  councilmen  seated  in  the  arc  of  a  circle 
upon  a  platform,  raised  some  four  feet  from  the 
floor.  At  the  front  of  the  stage,  and  in  the  cen 
tre,  was  an  upright  block  of  stone,  upon  which 
rested  an  open,  copper-bound  volume,  and  a 
lighted  torch. 

The  pale  blue  flame  from  the  torch  beside  the 
book  was  the  only  light  within  the  room,  and  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  I  could  distinguish  the 
forms  of  the  black-gowned  priests  behind. 

As  I  entered,  the  central  one  of  the  seven  arose 
from  his  seat  and  approached  the  lectern.  I  was 
irresolute  as  to  where  I  should  take  my  stand,  but 
finally  decided  to  proceed  until  I  reached  a  point 
opposite  the  book  and  torch,  where  I  bowed  to  my 
judges  and  stopped,  to  await  their  will. 

The  one  who  had  arisen  I  now  saw  to  be  Xaca, 
the  head  priest.  His  aged  face,  chiseled  in  sharp 
lines  by  the  pale  radiance  of  the  torch,  seemed  cold 
as  ice  and  cruel  as  revenge.  He  bent  his  eyes 
upon  the  open  book,  but  gave  no  sign  that  he  was 
aware  of  my  arrival. 

I  waited  for  a  full  minute,  and,  in  spite  of  all 
my  resolutions  of  courage,  felt  my  heart  beating 


THE    HOUSE    ON   STILTS  265 

like  a  trip-hammer  with  fear.  At  last  I  could 
bear  the  awful  silence  no  longer,  and  cried:  "I 
am  here,  0  priests  of  the  sun !" 

Slowly  Xaca  turned  his  eyes  toward  me,  and, 
lifting  his  hand,  beckoned  for  me  to  approach.  I 
drew  nearer  to  the  block  of  stone,  and,  as  he  con 
tinued  to  beckon,  mounted  the  platform  with  some 
little  effort,  and  stood  at  his  side.  Then  Xaca 
placed  his  index  finger  upon  the  open  book,  and 
indicated  that  I  should  read  the  page  beneath  his 
hand. 

It  was  the  book  of  law  of  Izaquil.  My  eyes 
almost  started  from  their  sockets,  as  I  read  the 
following  words: 

He  who  slays  a  Priest  of  the  Sun  shall  die  on 
the  Rock  of  Sacrifice. 

He  who  slays  a  Priest  of  the  Sun  shall  be  con 
sumed  by  fire. 

He  who  slays  a  Priest  of  the  Sun  shall  be  burned 
by  the  Sun  God  whom  he  has  angered. 

He  who  slays  a  Priest  of  the  Sun  shall  spend 
three  days  and  three  nights  in  the  Cave  of  Re 
pentance. 

He  who  slays  a  Priest  of  the  Sun  shall  be  judged 
and  sentenced  by  the  Council  of  Seven.  On  the 
Day  of  Atonement,  which  shall  be  three  days  and 


266  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

three  nights  after  he  has  entered  the  Cave  of 
Repentance,  shall  he  be  placed  upon  the  Rock  of 
Sacrifice  and  consumed  by  the  sacred  fire  sent  by 
the  Sun  God 
So  decrees  Izaquil. 

I  looked  up  from  the  page  of  law,  and  gazed 
into  the  pitiless  eyes  of  the  high  priest.  I  would 
have  found  more  mercy  in  the  sightless  orbs  of 
the  copper-coated  dead,  out  in  the  hall  of  statues. 
I  looked  around  at  the  immovable,  silent  figures 
of  the  six  other  judges,  and  realized  that  I  was 
doomed. 

"I  demand  a  trial,"  I  cried,  struggling  hard  to 
overcome  the  nameless  clutching  terror  at  my 
heart.  "I  killed  him  only  as  a  last  resort,  and  in 
self-defense,  after  I  had  tried  to  protect  the  honor 
of  the  girl  whom  I  would  make  my  wife.  Surely, 
if  any  man  ever  had  justification  for  homicide,  I 
had.  Surely,  wise  judges,  you  would  not  condemn 
a  man  for  that.  Surely  Pietro  deserved  his  fate!" 

I  was  pleading  with  images  of  stone.  Again 
Xaca's  white  fingers  pointed  at  the  page  of  law. 

"Think  for  a  moment  of  what  you  would  do!" 
I  cried,  now  speaking  in  choked  and  trembling 
tones.  "You  are  about  to  condemn  and  sacrifice 
an  innocent  man.  Because  Pietro  happened  to  be 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  267 

a  priest  of  the  sun,  he  had  no  right  to  attack  a 
woman,  a  guest  of  the  monastery,  and,  when  foiled 
in  that  purpose,  he  had  no  right  to  attempt  my 
life.  If  you  are  priests,  true  to  your  holy  vows, 
you  will  abhor  such  a  crime  as  Pietro  attempted, 
and  must  forgive  and  absolve  me  for  my  act." 

Once  again  Xaca's  finger  pointed  at  the  terrible 
law. 

"Then  you'll  have  to  take  me,"  I  cried,  suddenly 
reaching  my  decision.  I  realized  that  I  had  noth 
ing  to  hope  from  those  seven  monks  who  sat  in 
judgment  upon  me,  and  my  fighting  blood  over 
came  the  chill  of  fear  which  had  well-nigh  para 
lyzed  my  heart. 

With  one  bound,  I  was  off  the  platform,  and  in 
another  moment  was  darting  toward  the  door. 
If  I  could  regain  the  monastery,  I  would  take  my 
stand,  with  Larry  at  my  side,  and  with  whatever 
weapons  fate  placed  in  our  hands.  I  felt  confident 
that,  together,  we  could  defy  and  vanquish  the 
whole  brotherhood. 

As  I  sped  toward  the  entrance,  some  unseen 
power  closed  the  great  brass  door,  and  I  was 
locked  in  the  hall  of  justice  with  my  seven  judges. 
In  vain  I  threw  myself  against  the  metal  barrier, 
and  sought  to  find  the  bolt  or  latch  that  held  it 
shut.  It  was  as  smooth  as  glass,  and  as  solid  as  the 


268  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

N 

wall  of  rock  within  which  it  was  set.  Then  I 
looked  around  for  some  weapon  of  defense. 

Not  a  movable  object  was  within  sight  or  reach,, 
save  the  book  and  the  torch  upon  the  platform, 
and  I  backed  up  against  the  brazen  portal,  like  a 
rat  into  the  farthest  corner  of  his  trap,  resolved 
to  sell  my  life  as  dearly  as  possible. 

Neither  Xaca  nor  any  of  the  other  councilmen 
seemed  disturbed  by  my  outbreak.  I  had  expected 
them  to  surround  and  fall  upon  me,  and  knew 
that,  if  they  did,  such  a  contest  could  have  but  one 
ending.  Sure  as  I  was  of  defeat,  I  was  resolved 
to  die  fighting. 

"Come  on!"  I  shouted,  finding  additional  cour 
age  in  the  mere  sound  of  my  voice.  "Come  on 
and  take  me ;  but,  before  you  do,  I'll  show  you  how 
an  American  can  die." 

The  defiance  had  scarcely  left  my  lips  before 
my  eyes  were  dazzled  by  an  overpowering  flood 
of  light,  blazing  from  above.  A  score  of  huge 
copper  lamps  burst  into  flame  overhead,  and  down 
the  hall,  toward  me,  coming  from  I  knew  not 
where,  marched  a  squad  of  soldier  monks,  mail 
clad,  with  shields  upon  their  arms,  and  spears 
leveled  at  my  breast. 

Rage,  astonishment,  terror,  and  despair  strug 
gled  for  the  mastery  within  me.  When  they  had 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  269 

approached  within  ten  feet  of  me,  I  rushed  at 
them,  with  a  scream  of  desperation,  intending 
to  impale  myself  upon  their  spears. 

But  even  in  this  attempt  of  self-destruction  I 
was  balked.  Instead  of  piercing  me  with  a  dozen 
wounds,  the  spears  were  thrown  upward,  and  I 
crashed  into  the  phalanxed  shields  of  the  nearest 
monks.  Before  I  was  able  to  gather  myself  to 
gether  from  the  shock  of  impact,  muscular  arms 
had  pinioned  me,  and  I  was  a  prisoner. 

"Coward — murderers!"  I  screamed,  struggling 
in  vain  to  break  the  chains  of  flesh  and  bone.  I 
was  like  a  baby  in  their  grasp. 

With  the  same  impassive  eyes  that  had  re 
garded  me  when  I  pleaded  for  mercy,  Xaca  and 
his  companions  on  the  platform  now  witnessed 
my  battle  with  the  mutes  in  mail.  The  high 
priest's  index  finger  was  still  pointing  at  the  page 
of  law.  Then  Xaca  made  a  sign  to  my  captors; 
the  door  of  brass  was  flung  open,  and  I  was  led 
out  of  the  hall. 

Swiftly,  almost  noiselessly,  the  dumb  soldiers 
marched  me  through  the  length  of  several  tun 
nels,  toward  what  I  was  afterward  to  know  as  the 
cave  of  repentance. 

If  I  live  to  pass  the  century  mark,- 1  shall  re 
member  every  step  of  that  journey  to  my  dying 


270  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

day.  "It  is  the  death  march,"  I  muttered  to  my 
self,  and  across  my  mind  flashed  other  similar 
processions  I  had  seen.  There  was  the  march  that 
I  had  followed  as  a  reporter,  when  Maxwell,  "the 
trunk  murderer"  had  gone  to  the  gallows;  there 
was  the  grim  parade  through  the  jail  yard  of  a 
little  Missouri  town,  when  Deustrow,  "the  million 
aire  murderer,"  went  to  his  fate  for  the  slaughter 
of  wife  and  child.  These,  and  half  a  dozen  other 
gruesome  scenes,  came  back  to  me. 

But  in  all  these  processions  I  had  been  an  ob 
server.  I  had  gone  to  describe  the  actions  of  the 
wretch  whose  trembling  feet  were  counting  out 
the  last  heartbeats  in  his  bosom.  His  pallor — his 
lips,  mumbling  the  name  of  wife,  or  baby,  or  God 
— the  fit  of  his  collar  around  the  neck,  where  the 
noose  will  soon  fit  tighter  still — the  stumble  that 
he  makes  at  the  gibbet's  step — the  eyes  bursting 
from  their  sockets,  as  he  looks  up  and  beholds  the 
wooden  frame  and  the  swinging  cord  instead  of 
the  blue  sky  and  the  sunshine — these  had  been  but 
routine  items  in  my  mind,  once  upon  a  time. 

Now,  I  was  the  chief  figure  in  the  march  to 
doom.  The  red  lights  flickering  in  their  copper 
sockets;  the  silent  soldier  monks  leading  me  on; 
the  horror  of  abandoning  the  girl  I  loved  to  the 
mercies  of  the  devilish  crew  in  that  house  of  mys- 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  271 

tery;  the  menacing  thunders  of  the  volcano — all 
combined  to  paint  for  the  eye  and  for  the  imag 
ination  a  picture  more  grisly  and  more  weird  than 
any  I  had  ever  described  with  pen  or  tongue. 

At  length  we  reached  another  brazen  door, 
which  opened  at  our  approach.  Behind  it  was  a 
chamber  some  fifteen  feet  in  diameter,  the  only 
furnishings  of  which  were  a  bunk,  a  table,  and  a 
copper  lamp,  swinging  from  the  ceiling.  The 
walls,  cut  from  the  solid  rock,  were  smooth  and 
dripping  with  moisture. 

The  monks  closed  the  door  upon  me,  and  I  was 
alone. 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  to  describe  the  in 
terminable  hours  I  spent  within  that  cave  of 
despair.  For  hours  I  suffered  the  tortures  of  the 
lost,  as  I  contemplated  death  in  the  flames  upon 
the  rock ;  then  I  was  buoyed  by  fleeting  moments 
of  hope,  as  I  thought  of  Larry  Sullivan's  devotion 
and  bravery,  and  pictured  him  coming  to  my 
rescue. 

Many  of  the  lonesome  hours  I  whiled  away  in  a 
careful  examination  of  the  walls  of  the  cave, 
which  were  covered  with  a  mass  of  letters,  figures, 
symbols,  and  pictures,  Spanish,  French,  and  char 
acters  from  languages  that  were  strange  to  me 
were  inextricably  mixed  upon  the  rock,  but  here 


272  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

and  there  I  could  make  out  phrases  which  showed 
that  the  writers  had  been,  like  myself,  waiting 
for  death  upon  the  rock  of  sacrifice. 

Many  of  the  pictures  scratched  upon  the  stone 
were  executed  with  considerable  skill.  One  of 
the  best  was  a  remarkable  picture  of  the  monas 
tery  and  its  supporting  cliff. 

Beside  the  building  was  shown  the  sacrificial 
rock,  jutting  from  the  face  of  the  mountain,  and 
upon  the  stone  shelf  was  the  figure  of  a  man 
bound  to  a  post.  Faggots  were  heaped  about  his 
feet,  and  flames  were  surrounding  his  body. 
Above  his  head  was  shown  the  blazing  sun,  and 
circling  over  him  was  a  flock  of  condors,  while 
down  in  the  monastery  yard  was  a  group  of 
monks,  with  their  arms  uplifted  to  the  orb  of  day. 

The  man  who  had  graven  that  picture  upon  the 
rock  was  evidently  familiar  with  the  scene — 
doubtless  some  monk,  who,  himself,  had  often  par 
ticipated  in  the  awful  ceremony — and  I  wondered, 
as  I  looked  shudderingly  at  the  sketch,  how  he 
had  come  to  slay  a  brother  priest,  and  merit  the 
same  death  which  was  so  soon  to  overtake  me. 

It  is,  of  course,  unnecessary  to  say  that  I  ex 
hausted  my  ingenuity  in  trying  to  devise  means 
of  escape.  I  might  have  spared  myself  the  trou 
ble,  for  the  metal  door  was  as  solid  as  the  moun- 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  273 

tain,  and,  though  I  hurled  myself  against  it,  again 
and  again,  with  all  my  strength,  it  did  not  move 
the  fraction  of  an  inch.  Even  had  I  been  able  to 
break  down  the  barrier,  I  doubt  that  it  would 
have  availed  me  anything  in  the  way  of  escape; 
for  the  monkish  guards  were  doubtless  on  the 
other  side  of  the  door,  ready  to  meet  me  with 
shields  and  spears. 

Finally,  worn  out  in  mind  and  body,  I  threw 
myself  upon  the  couch,  and,  after  what  seemed  to 
be  the  lapse  of  hours,  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  NOCTURNAL  ADVENTURE 

WHEN  I  opened  my  eyes,  the  flame  in  the  copper 
lamp  was  flickering,  as  though  from  a  draught  of 
air.  Curiously  I  gazed  about  the  room,  to  ascer 
tain  the  cause,  and  my  eyes  fell  upon  the  great 
bronze  door.  It  was  open;  it  was  moving. 

I  leaped  to  my  feet,  and  ran  toward  the  door, 
but  as  I  neared  it,  my  heart  sank  within  me,  for 
I  saw  that  it  was  softly  closing.  In  another  mo 
ment,  it  stopped,  and  I  heard  the  unmistakable 
click  of  the  bolt  as  it  was  shot  into  place. 

Who  had  been  in  my  cell  ?  Had  there  been  any 
one  else  in  the  room  at  all;  or  was  the  movement 
of  the  door  only  a  dream,  that  was  still  playing 
upon  my  sleep-benumbed  senses?  Then  I  noticed 
something  white  at  my  feet.  It  was  a  roll  of 
paper. 

Seizing  it  with  feverish  haste,  I  opened  it,  and 
recognized  the  familiar  handwriting  of  the  monk 
who  had  assured  me  that  he  had  known  me  in  the 
dead  past. 

274 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  275 

This  is  what  I  read : 

Be  brave.  I  will  not  abandon  you.  The  sen 
tence  of  Izaquil  shall  never  be  carried  out.  I  will 
come  for  you  to-morrow  night. 

I  thought  the  next  day  would  never  come  to  an 
end.  I  say  "day,"  for  we  are  in  the  habit  of 
measuring  time  by  the  sun,  even  though  he  be 
hidden  from  us,  as  he  was  in  my  case.  I  was  un 
able  to  distinguish  day  from  night  in  that  cell 
beneath  the  solid  rock,  and  could  only  guess  at 
the  passage  of  the  hours. 

Three  times  the  metal  door  was  opened,  and 
three  times  an  armed  monk  brought  me  food  and 
water.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  message  of  hope 
which  I  had  received,  I  would  have  set  upon  the 
food  bearer,  and  made  an  effort  to  wrest  from  him 
his  sword  and  shield.  But  with  the  message  came 
cheer  to  my  heart,  and  a  caution  which  despair 
would  have  thrown  to  the  four  winds. 

Long,  long  after  the  ministering  monk  had 
made  his  third  visit,  as  I  sat  watching  the  red 
door  with  aching  eyes,  the  portal  opened  softly, 
and  a  black  figure  glided  from  the  corridor.  It 
beckoned  to  me,  and  I  followed  it  from  the  cham 
ber. 


276  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

Outside  the  cell  door  were  three  monks,  whose 
recumbent  figures  and  hearty  snores  bespoke  the 
soundness  of  their  slumbers.  We  sped  by  them 
like  shadows,  and,  after  passing  through  the 
length  of  the  tunnel  and  the  hall  of  the  sacred 
dead,  entered  the  long  corridor  of  the  many  lamps, 
leading  to  the  monastery.  My  heart  leaped  with 
joy  at  sight  of  the  familiar  way;  for  I  believed 
that  the  mysterious  monk  was  leading  me  back  to 
Norelle  and  Larry.  But  in  this  hope  I  was  dis 
appointed. 

When  we  had  reached  a  point  twenty  feet  from 
the  opening  of  the  tunnel,  at  the  rear  of  the  mon 
astery  building,  my  guide  opened  a  concealed 
door  at  the  side  of  the  corridor,  revealing  a  flight 
of  winding  steps,  leading  downward.  These  steps 
were  cut  out  of  the  solid  rock.  As  we  descended 
them,  after  carefully  closing  the  door  above,  I 
felt  a  breath  of  cold  air  strike  my  face. 

Then,  on  a  sudden,  we  found  ourselves  looking 
into  the  darkness  of  the  outer  night.  Below  our 
feet  was  the  abyss.  Another  step  would  have 
hurled  us  into  space. 

My  companion  pressed  my  hand  reassuringly, 
and,  reaching  above  his  head,  found  a  lantern, 
which  he  lighted  with  the  aid  of  flint  and  steel. 
Swinging  the  lantern  from  side  to  side,  and  out  as 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  277 

far  as  his  arm  would  reach,  the  monk  showed  me 
that  we  stood  at  the  mouth  of  a  tunnel,  many  feet 
below  the  floor  of  the  monastery. 

In  front  of  us,  and  to  our  right  and  left,  look 
ing  white  as  ivory  pillars  against  the  blackness 
of  the  night,  were  the  timbers  which  supported 
the  building — the  timbers  which  the  Voodoos  had 
tried  so  hard  to  uproot. 

I  was  about  to  ask  for  an  explanation  of  the 
strange  procedure,  when  the  monk  wrote  and 
handed  me  this  message : 

Help  me,  John,  with  all  your  might,  so  that  the 
decree  of  fire  shall  not  be  carried  out. 

So  the  monk  knew  my  Christian  name!  As  I 
withdrew  my  eyes  from  the  slip  of  paper  and 
looked  into  his,  I  saw  a  tear  steal  down  his  cheek. 
I  believe  he  made  an  effort  to  speak  with  his  mute 
lips.  Then  his  hands  sought  the  tablet,  to  write 
another  message;  but  at  the  next  moment,  the 
impulse  having  passed,  he  drew  a  long  breath,  as 
though  to  steel  himself  against  his  emotions,  and 
proceeded  to  the  business  of  the  night. 

Drawing  a  large  two-handed  saw  from  a  place 
of  concealment,  he  indicated  that  I  was  to  assist 
him  in  cutting  through  the  pillars  which  sup 
ported  the  building. 


278  THE    HOUSE    ON    STILTS 

"But  this  will  cause  the  monastery ,  to  fall!"  I 
expostulated,  in  a  whisper  of  astonishment  and 
fear. 

To  this  he  nodded  his  head. 

"And  Norelle,  and  Larry,  as  well  as  all  the 
others,  will  be  hurled  to  death,"  I  continued. 

This  time  he  shook  his  head  emphatically. 

I  soon  realized  that  it  was  not  his  purpose  to 
overthrow  the  monastery  at  once.  He  merely 
planned  to  cut  through  the  great  posts  with  the 
saw,  and  leave  them  standing. 

How  we  toiled  through  the  night;  how  we 
sawed  pillar  after  pillar;  how  we  dared  death  a 
hundred  times,  while  moving  our  frail  bridges  of 
boards  from  place  to  place,  so  that  we  might  have 
standing  room  to  do  our  strange  task,  is  scarcely 
worth  your  time  to  read,  or  mine  to  write.  Suffice 
it  that,  when  the  first  streaks  of  dawn  tinted  the 
sky  over  the  mountain  tops,  we  had  finished  the 
work. 

The  great  building  stood,  to  all  appearances,  as 
solidly  as  ever  upon  its  wooden  stilts;  but  my 
friend,  the  monk,  had  contrived  so  skilfully  to  cut 
each  timber  that  the  stability  of  all  depended  upon 
one  of  them.  Were  this  certain  post  to  be  dis 
placed  from  equilibrium,  or  to  receive  a  sudden 
jar,  I  could  imagine  the  whole  massive  structure 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  279 

above  us  toppling  like  a  house  of  cards  into  the 
chasm. 

When  we  had  finished  the  work,  we  fled  back 
through  the  corridors  to  my  prison.  The  guards 
were  still  sleeping  heavily  outside  the  brazen  door. 
They  had  apparently  stirred  not  during  all  the 
hours  we  had  been  gone,  and  I  suspected  that  they 
had  been  given  some  sort  of  sleeping  potion,  to 
insure  their  uninterrupted  repose. 

As  the  monk  was  about  to  leave  me,  he  turned 
suddenly  and  threw  his  arms  about  me.  He 
seized  my  hand  and  wrung  it  fondly ;  then  he  took 
my  writing  pad,  and  wrote : 

Good-by,  dear  boy.  We  may  never  meet  again. 
Think  of  me  sometimes  as  one  who  loved  you 
more  than  life. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  DAY  OF  ATONEMENT 

To  my  joyful  surprise,  the  monk  paid  me  another 
visit  on  the  following  day,  but  my  pleasure  at 
meeting  him  again  was  short-lived,  when  I  learned 
the  dreadful  intelligence  he  brought. 

Three  victims  had  been  doomed  to  die  on  the 
rock  of  sacrifice,  instead  of  one.  Norelle  and 
Larry  were  the  other  two. 

Can  you  picture  my  despair,  when  this  awful 
news  was  finally  conveyed  to  me  through  the  me 
dium  of  pencil  and  paper? 

Sinister  events  had  transpired  after  I  left  the 
monastery.  At  about  the  time  when  I  was  being 
taken  to  the  cave  of  repentance,  Xaca  had  dis 
covered  in  the  book  of  law  that  Norelle  must  be 
offered  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  sun  god.  In  the  trans 
lation  of  the  volume  which  Pietro,  the  fiendish 
librarian,  had  completed  just  before  his  death,  it 
was  recorded  that  no  woman  might  enter  the 
monastery  and  live.  Her  mere  presence  was  a 
profanation  of  holy  quarters,  and  she  must,  upon 

280 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  281 

discovery,  be  offered  up  on  the  rock  of  sacrifice,  to 
expiate  the  sins  of  her  sex. 

All  this,  and  more,  was  written  me  by  the  monk, 
who  slipped  into  my  prison  three  times  before  the 
noon  of  the  day  set  for  me  to  perish  on  the  rock. 

He  also  attempted  to  write  me  a  description  of 
the  magnificent  but  hopeless  battle  which  Larry 
fought  in  defense  of  Norelle,  my  sweetheart,  but 
it  was  not  until  long  afterward  that  I  gained  a 
definite  idea  of  the  splendid  fight. 

It  was  impossible  that  the  monk,  in  the  few 
hurried  moments  at  his  disposal,  could  tell  me 
how  Sullivan  had  taken  his  stand,  with  Norelle 
behind  him,  in  the  corner  of  the  monastery  yard, 
almost  in  the  shadow  of  the  rock  of  sacrifice,  and 
there,  with  nothing  but  a  stout  brass  bar  in  his 
hands,  had  held  at  bay  for  half  an  hour  the  entire 
force  of  the  brotherhood ;  how  he  had  mowed  down 
the  mutes,  at  their  first  onset,  until  he  had  piled 
in  front  of  him  a  bulwark  of  half  a  dozen  corpses ; 
how  they  had  rushed  upon  him,  again  and  again, 
only  to  fall  back  with  skulls  and  limbs  shattered 
by  that  brazen  flail;  and  how,  finally,  they  had 
brought  him  low  with  a  mass  of  ore,  hurled  down 
upon  him  from  an  upper  window  of  the  monastery 
building.  Even  as  the  mob  fell  upon  him  to 
bind  him  hand  and  foot,  Larry  recovered  con- 


282  THE    HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

sciousness,  and,  gripping  the  throat  of  one  of  his 
assailants,  had  throttled  him  to  death. 

It  was  a  fight  worthy  of  a  place  in  song  beside 
that  earlier  exploit  of  Horatius  at  the  Bridge ;  but, 
unfortunately,  unlike  the  case  of  the  sturdy  Ro 
man  who  defended  the  footway  spanning  the  Tiber, 
victory  perched  on  the  side  of  the  numbers.  They 
loaded  him  with  chains,  and  buried  him  in  a  cell, 
beside  which  the  one  I  occupied  was  a  prince's 
palace. 

When  Larry  was  overwhelmed,  Norelle  had  at 
tempted  to  escape  the  flames  by  leaping  from  the 
monastery  wall,  but  had  been  frustrated  in  her 
design,  and  was  confined  in  one  of  the  inner  rooms 
of  the  building. 

With  my  heart  torn  by  the  emotions  aroused  by 
this  narrative,  it  is  small  wonder  that  I  was  half 
beside  myself  when  Xaca  and  his  priests  came  for 
me  shortly  before  noon.  Their  coming  was  a 
blessed  relief  from  the  solitary  agonies  I  had  been 
suffering;  and  I  accompanied  them  gladly,  caring 
little  whether  my  fate  were  life  or  death. 

When  we  had  traversed  the  tunnels,  and  had 
reached  the  face  of  the  cliff,  we  found  the  monas 
tery  standing  as  solidly  as  ever,  and  I  was 
tempted  to  believe  that  I  had  only  dreamed  of  that 
night-long  toil  with  the  monk.  Surely,  if  my  mys- 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  283 

terious  friend  were  planning  to  destroy  the  build 
ing,  the  time  for  him  to  act  had  passed.  Little 
good  his  intervention  would  accomplish,  after  the 
fagots  had  been  kindled  about  our  feet. 

All  the  monks  of  the  brotherhood  seemed  to 
have  gathered  in  the  yard.  It  was  impossible  to 
count  them  in  the  brief  time  given  me  for  obser 
vation,  had  I  been  in  the  mood — and  I  surely  was 
not — but  there  must  have  been  more  than  three 
hundred  of  the  cowled  figures  in  the  inclosure.  I 
looked  in  vain  for  the  face  of  my  friend.  Per 
haps  he  had  deserted  me  at  the  eleventh  hour; 
perhaps  he  had  been  prevented  from  coming,  and 
the  sacrifice  would  be  made,  in  spite  of  all  the 
brave  work  he  had  done  to  save  me.  My  heart 
sank  within  me,  as  I  saw  the  fiendish  prepara 
tions  made  by  Xaca  and  his  followers,  and  ob 
served  that  the  sun  was  rapidly  near  ing  the 
zenith. 

Norelle  and  Larry,  each  manacled  and  heavily 
guarded,  were  in  the  inclosure  when  I  was  brought 
out.  The  poor  girl  was  pale  as  death,  but  there 
was  no  trace  of  tears  in  her  glorious  eyes,  and 
when  her  gaze  met  mine,  I  read  nothing  of  fear, 
nothing  of  the  horror  she  must  have  suffered. 
But  I  did  read  and  interpret  the  love  light  in  her 
eyes,  and  my  heart  leaped  with  joy  to  know  that 


284  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

she   was   mine,   even   in   the   shadow   of   doom. 

"We  will  die  together,  love,"  she  exclaimed, 
"and  will  meet  again  beyond  the  mountains." 

"Do  not  give  up  hope,  little  girl,"  I  replied. 
"We  may  be  saved,  even  at  this  late  hour." 

"It  looks  to  me  as  though  we  were  mighty  near 
all  in,"  said  Larry.  "They've  got  things  all  ready 
on  the  mantelshelf,  up  there." 

He  jerked  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  rock 
of  sacrifice,  and  my  eyes  at  once  sought  the  bar 
baric  altar. 

Planted  upon  it  were  three  stakes,  and  sus 
pended  above  the  middle  one  by  a  copper  chain, 
was  a  ball  of  glass,  as  large  as  a  toy  balloon.  I 
could  not  imagine  the  purpose  of  this  sphere  of 
crystal,  unless  it  were  some  ornament  or  emblem, 
used  in  the  dread  ceremony  so  soon  to  begin. 

The  wooden  steps  leading  to  the  rock  looked 
like  the  grim  stairs  leading  to  a  gallows  trap. 

My  appearance  with  the  high  priest  was  the 
signal  for  the  mummeries  to  begin.  They  had  evi 
dently  been  waiting  for  their  third  victim ;  for,  as 
soon  as  I  emerged  from  the  building,  the  black 
monks  began  a  march  around  the  inclosure,  mak 
ing,  the  meanwhile,  strange  signs  with  their 
hands,  and  bowing  frequently  to  the  blazing  sun. 
After  they  had  circled  the  yard  three  times,  Xaca, 


THE    HOUSE    ON   STILTS  285 

assisted  by  two  other  monks,  conducted  Norelle, 
Larry,  and  myself  up  the  steps  to  the  rock,  and 
there  fastened  us  to  the  stakes. 

Norelle  was  placed  in  the  centre,  directly  be 
neath  the  strange  glass  globe;  Larry  was  bound 
to  the  stake  on  her  right  hand,  and  I  on  her  left. 
Sticks  of  dry  wood  were  piled  around  our  feet,  the 
three  stacks  of  faggots  being  so  near  together 
that,  if  one  were  to  be  lighted,  all  would  blaze. 
The  stakes  were  planted  in  such  close  proximity 
that,  had  our  arms  been  free,  we  could  have 
clasped  hands.  Directly  in  front  of  Norelle,  and 
thrown  partly  upon  the  faggots  and  partly  upon 
the  rock,  was  a  mass  of  feathery  wood  pith,  or 
some  other  sort  of  tinder-like  material,  which  I 
guessed  would  be  ignited  by  a  spark,  and  would, 
in  turn,  set  fire  to  the  faggots  and  our  writhing 
bodies. 

As  soon  as  we  were  securely  fastened  to  the 
stakes  by  copper  chains,  and  the  kindling  wood 
had  been  arranged  to  their  satisfaction,  Xaca  and 
his  two  companions  hurriedly  left  the  rock,  and 
rejoined  their  brethren  upon  the  platform  below, 
where  they  resumed  their  marching  and  gesticu 
lations. 

The  sun  was  nearly  overhead,  and,  as  his  beams 
beat  down  upon  our  foreheads,  the  heat  was  al- 


286  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

most  intolerable.  Occasionally,  a  faint  breeze 
fanned  the  golden  curls  upon  Norelle's  brow,  and 
I  wondered,  with  a  shudder  of  horror,  how  they 
would  look  when  touched  by  the  withering  flames. 
Would  I  live  to  see  them  smoke  and  shrivel  in  the 
awful  heat,  or  would  the  flames  mercifully  spare 
me  the  agony  of  seeing  my  darling  suffer,  by  tak 
ing  me  first? 

Norelle's  gaze  was  fixed  upon  the  east,  where 
the  smoke  from  Mont  Lazarre  was  lazily  lifting 
into  the  heavens,  and  if  she  feared  the  approach 
of  death,  neither  the  undimmed  depths  of  her 
eyes  nor  the  calm  of  her  white  brow  revealed  it. 

"Come  on  and  light  your  damned  fire,  and  get 
it  over  with !"  snarled  Larry. 

The  monks  continued  their  marching.  The  sun 
blazed  hotter  from  above. 

I  had  given  up  all  hope  of  rescue.  My  friend 
had  failed  me,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  smoke 
and  flames  from  the  burning  faggots  would  blot 
out  all  semblance  of  humanity  on  that  dreadful 
platform. 

What  was  that?  A  red-hot  iron  seemd  to  strike 
the  back  of  my  hand. 

Looking  down  at  the  point  of  pain,  I  beheld  a 
dazzling  white  spot.  Involuntarily,  I  uttered  an 
exclamation ;  and  as  I  managed  to  shift  my  hand 


'LIGHT  YOUR  DAMNED  FIRE  AND  GET  IT  OVBB  WITH!"  SNARLED  LARRY. 

Paye  280. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  287 

slightly,  in  spite  of  its  shackles,  my  mind  grasped 
the  significance  of  the  thing. 

"The  burning  glass !"  I  cried.  "It  is  the  burn 
ing  glass  above  Norelle's  head." 

In  another  moment,  the  white  spot  had  trav 
eled  from  my  hand  to  the  rock  beneath  my 
feet. 

What  devilish  ingenuity!  The  monks  had  so 
hung  the  crystal  ball  above  Norelle's  head  that  the 
rays  of  the  sun,  passing  through  it,  would,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  minutes,  reach  the  tinder  on  the 
faggots,  and  start  it  into  blaze.  There  was  no 
need  for  human  hands  to  kindle  the  fire.  Izaquil, 
lord  of  the  sun,  from  his  chariot  above,  would 
touch  the  match  himself. 

Thank  Heaven,  Norelle  had  fainted.  The  tor 
ture  of  suspense,  added  to  the  terror  of  suffering 
and  death,  had  done  their  work,  and  I  prayed 
fervently  that  the  smoke  would  also  be  merciful 
to  her,  and  bring  suffocation  before  the  flames 
should  reach  her  body. 

The  dazzling  ray  of  light  traveled  over  the  bare 
rock  toward  the  tinder.  Slow  as  it  was,  in  fact, 
it  seemed  to  race  with  lightning  speed. 

"At  the  rate  it  is  going,"  said  Larry,  "it  will 
be  there  in  less  than  five  minutes.  Allow  five  min 
utes  more  for  the  fire  to  gain  good  headway, 


288  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

and  I  figure  we've  just  about  ten  more  minutes 
of But  what's  that?" 

A  stalwart  form  leaped  from  the  line  of  monks, 
and  ran  swiftly  toward  the  wooden  wall  of  the 
inclosure.  Xaca  and  his  followers  had  stopped 
short  in  their  ceremonial.  Horror  was  depicted 
on  their  faces.  For  a  precious  moment,  they 
paused,  thralled  by  the  unexpected,  paralyzed 
by  the  terror  of  the  danger  that  threatened 
them. 

A  heavy,  long-handled  brass  sledge  rested 
against  the  wall.  Seizing  this  with  the  quickness 
of  light,  my  friend — for  it  was  he — swung  it  over 
his  head,  and  brought  it  down  upon  the  top  of  one 
of  the  timbers  that  came  up  from  below. 

The  monastery  quivered  like  a  ship  in  collision. 

Again  he  raised  the  mighty  weapon,  and  again 
it  fell  upon  the  pillar. 

Now  the  monastery  rocks ;  now  the  wooden  hulk 
groans;  now  the  mob  of  mutes  plunge  across  the 
open  space,  to  halt  the  swinging  instrument  of 
doom. 

A  wordless  wail,  a  tongueless  scream,  bursts 
from  three  hundred  throats.  Once  more  the  great 
sledge  glints  redly  in  the  sunlight,  as  it  describes 
another  fearful  arc  and  falls  upon  the  upraised 
post. 


THE    HOUSE   ON   STILTS  289 

Xaca  and  his  followers  have  almost  reached  the 
wall. 

But  they  are  never  to  arrive — are  never  to  stay 
that  destroying  arm.  One  more  stroke  and  the 
deed  is  done. 

The  long  roof  of  the  monastery  crumbled  like 
pie  crust ;  the  flooring  of  the  yard  was  gone.  For 
one  horrible  instant,  the  crowd  of  monks  was  run 
ning  on  air.  Then  there  was  a  screeching,  as 
timbers  split — a  crash — a  roar — a  cloud  of  dust 
— space — vacancy — the  chasm — the  abyss. 

It  seemed  a  year  before  the  sickening,  muffled 
roar  from  below  told  us  that  Xaca  and  his  monks, 
and  our  deliverer,  were  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
FROM  THE  DOOR  OF  DOOM 

DEATH  still  traveled  swiftly  toward  us  in  that 
dazzling  point  of  light.  In  three  minutes,  the  sun 
would  be  directly  overhead,  and  all  the  concen 
trated  power  of  his  noonday  rays  would  be  shot 
through  the  crystal  globe  upon  the  inflammable 
stuff  at  Norelle's  feet.  Poor,  dear  girl!  She 
would  be  the  first  to  suffer  the  torture  of  fire. 
Long  before  the  flames  would  reach  me,  I  should 
be  compelled  to  witness  her  agonies. 

The  very  thought  drove  me  mad,  and  I  raved 
like  a  wild  creature  as  I  tugged  and  twisted  at  my 
chains,  until  the  links  sunk  into  my  wrists  and  the 
blood  gushed  out,  to  drip  upon  the  rock.  Struggle 
as  I  might  with  all  the  power  of  my  muscles,  I 
was  unable  to  slip  the  chains  an  inch.  At  last,  I 
fell,  weak  and  sobbing,  against  the  stake. 

"We  must  get  loose  in  two  minutes,  or  never," 
cried  Larry,  now  striving  at  his  bonds  until  the 
veins  upon  his  forehead  stood  out  like  ropes.  He 
grew  purple  in  the  face. 

290 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  291 

"We  can  never  do  it,"  I  cried,  in  despair. 
"What  good  did  our  poor  friend  accomplish,  after 
all?  He  threw  away  his  own  life,  and  ours  will 
be  sacrificed  just  the  same." 

Several  shadows  passed  over  our  heads,  and, 
looking  up,  we  saw  that  five  or  six  condors  were 
wheeling  in  narrowing  circles  over  the  rock. 

"Those  vile  birds  will  be  cheated  of  their  prey, 
this  time,"  said  Larry.  "When  the  fire  gets 
through  with  us,  there  won't  be  a  beakful  for  any 
of  them." 

"They'll  find  plenty  down  below,"  I  said. 
"There's  enough  carrion  down  there  to  gorge 
them  for  weeks." 

One  minute — half  a  minute  more,  and  the  tin 
der  would  be  ablaze. 

Larry  and  I  watched  the  tip  of  light,  as  though 
in  a  mesmeric  spell.  It  was  a  flaming  eye,  that 
held  us  fast.  Now  it  was  within  three  inches  of 
the  point  of  death;  now  it  seemed  to  leap  the 
space.  The  feathery  stuff  blackened,  curled, 
snapped,  smoked — and  then,  a  strange  thing  hap 
pened. 

A  blot  of  ink  seemed  to  fall  upon  the  spot  where 
our  eyes  were  riveted.  The  ink  blot  swayed 
to  and  fro,  and  the  new-born  fire  beneath  it 
died. 


292  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

"Heaven  bless  the  bird!"  cried  Larry,  with  a 
shout  of  joy.  "We're  saved!  We're  saved!" 

One  of  the  wheeling  condors  had  alighted  upon 
the  ball  of  glass.  His  bulk  above  the  globe  cut  off 
the  rays  of  light  from  the  sun.  Even  had  he  been 
as  transparent  as  the  glass  itself,  he  would  have 
been  our  savior  still;  for  his  sudden  weight  had 
set  the  ball  to  swinging  like  a  pendulum  upon  the 
copper  chain. 

"Don't  frighten  him  away,"  I  admonished. 
"Let  us  pray  that  he  stays  there  till  the  sun  moves 
off  the  danger  point." 

"The  danger  is  over,  my  boy,"  cried  Larry.  "It 
would  take  fifteen  minutes,  at  least,  for  the  burn 
ing  glass  to  swing  back  to  a  dead  stop.  My  lad, 
we're  saved — I  tell  you,  we're  saved !" 

"I'll  never  kill  a  condor  as  long  as  I  live,"  I 
cried,  as  though  registering  a  vow. 

"Neither  will  I,  Jack,"  said  Larry.  "And  now," 
he  added  briskly,  "we  have  just  twenty-four  hours 
in  which  to  free  ourselves  from  these  pesky  posts. 
If  we  can't  do  it  inside  that  limit,  we  ought  to  be 
burned.  What's  more,  we  will  be  scorched  if  we 
don't ;  for  the  sun  will  come  back  to  that  selfsame 
spot  again  to-morrow  noon,  and  there's  no 
chance  of  the  dear  old  bird  repeating  the  per 
formance." 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  293 

The  condor  rocked  solemnly  upon  his  glass 
perch  for  perhaps  three  minutes,  and  then,  ob 
serving  that  his  fellows  had  swooped  down  to 
where  lay  the  wreck  of  the  monastery  and  its 
shattered  tenants,  plunged  after  them.  The  glass 
ball  swung  ten  feet  from  left  to  right,  and  oscil 
lated  in  lessening  arcs  for  nearly  half  an  hour. 
When  next  the  piercing  rays  of  the  sun  fell  stead 
ily  upon  one  spot,  the  deadly  point  of  light  dropped 
harmlessly  upon  the  bare  black  rock,  six  feet  from 
the  faggots  of  the  sun  god's  altar. 

In  the  course  of  two  hours,  Larry  managed  to 
free  himself  from  his  stake  and  chain.  By  dint  of 
superhuman  exertions,  he  succeeded  in  pulling  up 
the  stake  to  which  he  was  bound,  and  then,  using 
the  jagged  edges  of  a  stone  for  a  file,  severed 
the  links  of  his  chain  and  was  free. 

Long  before  Sullivan  had  accomplished  this, 
Norelle  had  regained  consciousness.  When  her 
eyes  opened,  she  gazed  around  in  wonder  at  the 
unfamiliar  scene.  Then  she  saw  Larry  and  me 
at  our  stakes,  felt  the  chains  that  bound  her  own 
wrists,  and  once  more  came  to  a  realization  of  her 
peril.  She  missed  the  presence  of  her  persecutors. 

"Where  are  the  monks,  and  where  is  the  monas 
tery?"  she  asked,  her  bewildered  eyes  taking  in 
the  chasm. 


294  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

"The  monks  are  down  there,"  I  said,  "and  so  is 
their  house." 

"They  have  gone  to  their  reward  in  the  sun 
god's  temple — or  to  some  other  equally  hot  place," 
added  Larry. 

While  Larry  tugged  at  his  chains  and  swore 
under  his  breath,  as  he  cut  his  wrists  or  bruised 
his  hands  in  the  task  of  extricating  himself,  I  gave 
Norelle  a  brief  account  of  the  terrible  scenes, 
which  Providence  had  mercifully  hidden  from  her 
eyes.  When  I  described  how  the  heroic  unknown 
had  battered  down  the  building  with  his  single 
arm,  and  had  gone  to  death  with  the  rest,  No- 
relle's  face  flushed,  and  her  eyes  blazed  with 
admiration. 

"Glorious  —  perfectly  glorious!"  she  cried. 
"What  a  noble  martyr!  And  have  you  no  idea, 
Jack,  who  he  was  ?" 

"Not  the  faintest  in  the  world,"  I  replied. 

"Yet  he  said  he  loved  you  in  the  dead  past," 
said  Norelle. 

"Yes." 

"I  know  who  he  was,"  exclaimed  Norelle,  "and 
so  do  you,  if  you  but  think.  Who  else  could  he 
have  been,  but  your " 

"My  father!"  I  cried.  "But  no— I  cannot  be 
lieve  it !  Had  he  been  my  father,  he  would  surely 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  295 

have  revealed  himself  to  me,  for  he  had  ample 
opportunity  to  do  so." 

"He  did  not  do  so  because  he  was  too  noble,  too 
heroic — because  he  loved  you  too  much,"  cried 
Norelle,  her  face  transfigured  with  the  lofty  senti 
ments  she  expressed.  "I  can  read  his  mind  even 
now,  although  he  has  gone  to  his  reward  in 
heaven." 

"I  do  not  see  how  you  figure  it  out,"  I  exclaimed. 

"It  is  all  too  plain — too  pitifully  plain — why  he 
denied  himself  the  joy  of  a  reunion,"  cried  No 
relle.  He  knew  that,  to  save  you,  he  must  die. 
Why,  then,  should  he  reveal  his  identity,  even  to 
you?  Why  should  he  reopen  the  scars  in  your 
heart  and  in  the  heart  of  your  mother — the 
wounds  that  time  had  healed?  You  both  had 
lived  down  the  sharpest  pain,  and  time  had  soft 
ened  your  grief.  To  have  made  himself  known 
to  you  would  surely  have  been  a  cruel  thing  to  do. 
He,  therefore,  denied  himself,  in  order  to  die  for 
you,  and  leave  you  no  less  happy  than  you  were 
when  you  came  to  the  monastery.  Oh,  Jack,  now 
I  love  you  more  than  ever,  for  your  father's  sake. 
He  was  a  hero,  if  ever  a  hero  walked  abroad  on 
the  earth." 

When  Norelle  was  released  from  her  chains, 
she  was  scarcely  able  to  stand,  but  she  insisted  on 


296  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

helping  Larry  until  I,  too,  was  freed  from  my 
galling  bonds.  She  then  consented  to  rest,  while 
Larry  and  I  took  stock  of  the  situation. 

We  were  still  in  desperate  straits.  How  were 
we  to  get  down  alive  from  that  shelf  of  rock. 
Above,  below,  and  on  either  side,  the  smooth,  black 
face  of  the  cliff  stretched  away  from  us,  and  of 
fered  neither  hand  nor  foothold  for  the  most  dar 
ing  climber.  Unless  we  could  provide  ourselves 
with  wings  in  some  miraculous  manner,  escape 
seemed  hopeless,  and  it  looked  as  though  we  had 
cheated  the  funeral  pyre  only  to  perish  by  thirst 
and  hunger. 

One  hope,  and  only  one,  presented  itself  after 
we  had  made  a  most  careful  examination  of  the 
surroundings.  This  was  the  possibility  of  reach 
ing  one  of  the  tunnels  bored  into  the  cliff  at  the 
place  where  the  monastery  had  stood.  But  it 
looked  like  a  forlorn  hope,  at  the  best.  There  were 
four  of  these  holes  in  the  face  of  the  mountain, 
and  the  nearest  of  them  was  at  least  twenty  feet 
below,  and  eight  or  ten  feet  to  one  side  of,  the  rock 
of  sacrifice. 

Larry  set  about  improvising  a  ladder  to  span 
the  space  between.  He  took  the  several  pieces  of 
chain  which  had  been  used  to  fasten  us  to  the 
stakes,  and  to  hang  the  glass  ball  above  our  heads, 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  297 

and  pieced  them  carefully,  end  on  end.  Then  he 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  dismay.  When  all  of 
them  were  joined,  the  total  length  was  too  short 
to  reach  the  tunnel  opening.  Six  feet  more  of 
chain  were  needed.  Larry  leaned  against  the 
back  wall  of  rock  and  swore  softly  under  his 
breath. 

"I  have  a  suggestion,"  ventured  Norelle.  "Why 
not  use  the  stakes  to  piece  out  the  chain?" 

"Faith,  and  why  not,  my  girl!"  cried  Larry  joy 
fully.  "Only  because  I  am  that  stupid  that  I  never 
think  of  a  good  idea  till  somebody  thinks  it  for 
me.  You're  a  genius.  The  thought  will  save  our 
lives." 

While  he  talked,  he  worked  rapidly  upon  the 
suggestion,  piecing  out  the  chains  with  two  of 
the  stakes.  The  third  stake — that  nearest  the 
tunnel  opening — Larry  left  where  it  was  planted, 
and  fastened  firmly  to  it  one  end  of  the  lengthened 
chain. 

"Now,  see  me  go  down  the  fire  escape  to  the 
hole  in  the  wall,"  he  said,  deliberately  taking  off 
his  shirt  and  tearing  it  into  shreds. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  doing  now?"  I  asked,  in 
astonishment. 

"I'm  merely  trying  to  save  my  lily-white 
hands,"  he  replied.  "The  chain  is  none  too  large, 


298  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

and  would  cut  me  badly  when  I  bore  my  weight 
upon  it,  unless  I  made  some  mitts." 

Quickly  winding  the  bandages  around  his  hands, 
Larry  approached  the  side  of  the  rock. 

"How  on  earth  are  you  ever  going  to  get  to  that 
tunnel?"  I  asked,  as  I  looked  down  into  space,  and 
drew  back  with  a  shudder. 

"Swing,"  he  replied  simply. 

"I  am  lighter  than  you  are,  and  ought  to  do  it," 
I  exclaimed,  in  a  half-hearted  way.  I  knew  before 
I  spoke  that  Larry  would  not  let  me  make  the  at 
tempt.  I  also  knew  that,  if  I  were  to  try  it,  I 
should  surely  fail.  The  fear  I  had  always  enter 
tained  for  great  heights  would  make  the  attempt 
a  failure  and  a  tragedy. 

Larry  knew  it,  too;  for  he  laughed,  and  said: 
"I  like  swinging  better  than  any  other  sport  I 
know." 

Without  more  ado,  he  prepared  for  his  dizzy 
task.  As  a  precautionary  measure,  I  fastened  the 
chain  around  his  waist,  and  then  tested  the 
strength  of  the  post  and  the  several  sections  of 
the  chain.  All  seemed  strong  and  true.  Larry 
then  crawled  slowly  backward  over  the  edge  of 
the  rock,  paying  out  the  chain  with  his  bandaged 
hands  as  he  went.  In  another  moment,  he  was 
lost  to  view. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  299 

"Oh,  I  do  hope  the  posts  and  chain  will  hold!" 
cried  Norelle,  her  voice  a  sob. 

"Never  fear— they'll  hold  a  house,"  replied 
Larry's  voice,  from  space. 

Norelle  and  I  crouched  near  the  edge  of  the 
rock,  holding  each  other's  hands,  scarcely  daring 
to  speak  or  breathe.  I  watched  the  chain  running 
taut  from  the  stake  to  the  edge  of  the  rock,  and 
my  heart  sank  as  I  thought  I  saw  the  links 
lengthen  with  the  strain.  Suppose  they  were  to 
be  severed  by  the  knif e-Jike  edge  of  the  stone  shelf. 
Suppose  Larry's  hands  should  slip,  and  the  chain 
around  his  waist  were  to  give  way.  A  sweat 
broke  out  upon  my  forehead. 

"How  are  you  getting  on,  old  man?"  I  called, 
after  he  had  been  hidden  from  sight  for  possibly 
a  minute. 

"Fine  as  silk,"  came  his  hearty  reply.  "I'll  be 
there  in  about  two  winks." 

"Look,  Jack — he's  swinging! ".cried  Norelle,  at 
the  next  moment. 

Sure  enough,  his  lithe  body  swung  into  view, 
then  disappeared,  then  came  in  sight  once  more. 
How  he  was  able  to  keep  his  head,  as  he  swept 
back  and  forth  across  the  face  of  the  cliff,  with 
that  hideous  gulf  below,  was  beyond  my  compre 
hension.  It  made  me  sick  to  watch  him,  and  I 


300  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

shut  my  eyes,  lest  I  should  see  his  body  torn  from 
the  chain  and  shot  into  space  like  a  missile  from 
a  sling. 

Then  I  heard  a  cheery  shout,  and  opened  my 
eyes,  to  behold  the  brave  fellow  standing,  safe  and 
sound,  in  the  tunnel's  mouth.  Then,  and  not  until 
then,  did  I  feel  that  we  were  saved. 

In  an  hour,  or  less,  we  had  rigged  up  a  rope 
ladder  from  the  rock  of  sacrifice  to  the  tunnel 
opening,  and  had  got  Norelle,  as  well  as  my  own 
cowardly  self,  into  the  cavern.  Norelle  sank  on 
her  knees  to  utter  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving,  and 
Larry  and  I  solemnly  shook  hands. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  PROPHECY  FULFILLED 

WE  sat  up  late,  that  night,  discussing  our  mar 
velous  escape,  and  planning  a  programme  for  the 
future. 

After  descending  from  the  rock  of  sacrifice,  we 
had  made  a  tour  of  the  caverns  from  the  face  of 
the  cliff  to  the  copper  mines,  and  in  all  those  miles 
of  tunnel  had  found  no  living  human  being.  The 
foundry,  the  kitchen,  the  tailor  and  carpenter 
shops,  the  cloth  mjH,  the  mines,  the  joinery,  and 
all  the  other  haunfs  of  the  monks,  were  as  the 
industrious  workmen  had  quit  them  when  they 
had  been  summoned  to  participate  in  the  cere 
mony  which  ended  in  their  death.  Even  the  fires 
in  the  furnaces  were  burning,  and,  as  Larry 
thought  we  might  need  them  on  the  morrow,  when 
we  planned  to  begin  the  construction  of  a  new 
hoist  over  the  chasm,  we  added  more  fuel,  to  keep 
them  ablaze. 

"If  I  had  to  strike  a  light  with  flint  and  steel, 
I'd  be  up  against  it,  sure  enough,"  said  Larry. 

301 


302  THE   HOUSE  ON  STILTS 

Norelle  went  to  rest  in  the  cave  of  repentance, 
that  night,  while  Larry  and  I  slept  upon  a  shake 
down  of  blankets  outside  the  door. 

"Good  night,  brave  gentlemen,"  she  said,  be 
fore  closing  the  brazen  door  between  us.  "If  I  am 
haunted  by  repentant  spirits,  will  you  come  to  my 
assistance?" 

"We  sure  will,"  agreed  Larry.  "Any  spirit  that 
bothers  you  will  have  good  cause  to  repent." 

Shortly  after  midnight  we  were  awakened  by  a 
rumbling  and  rocking  of  the  earth.  As  we  started 
to  our  feet,  Larry  and  I  were  both  thrown  vio 
lently  against  the  wall  of  the  tunnel,  and,  sleep 
dazed  as  we  were,  it  was  some  little  time  before 
we  could  collect  our  senses.  The  rumbling  was 
so  loud  and  so  incessant  that  it  was  with  the  ut 
most  difficulty  that  we  were  able  to  hear  each 
other's  voices. 

"Where  is  Norelle?"  I  asked ;  then,  remembering 
that  she  was  sleeping  in  the  room  beyond  the  brass 
door,  I  knocked  upon  the  metal  panels,  and 
shouted  her  name.  In  another  moment,  she 
opened  the  door,  and  came  out. 

"What  is  the  matter?  What  caused  the  earth 
to  shake?"  she  asked. 

"The  volcano,"  replied  Larry.  "Mont  Lazarre 
is  giving  us  a  shaking  before  taking. 


THE    HOUSE   ON    STILTS  303 

"Let  us  go  to  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel,  and  see 
what  is  going  on,"  I  suggested.  "Even  though 
we  cannot  get  down  to  level  ground,  it  will  seem 
less  terrifying  to  be  in  sight  of  the  open  air." 

Losing  no  time,  we  hurried  down  the  corridor, 
Norelle  gave  a  hand  to  each,  and  was  easily  able 
to  keep  up  with  our  pace  for  the  entire  distance. 
When  we  came  to  the  hall  of  the  sacred  dead,  we 
found  scores  of  the  copper  figures  lying  on  the 
floor.  The  great  copper  condor  seemed  to  be  im 
bued  with  horrible  life;  for  he  was  swinging 
erratically  from  his  invisible  wires,  and,  in  the 
dim  light  cast  by  a  few  lamps,  which  were  still 
burning,  acted  as  though  he  were  flying  uncer 
tainly  about,  in  search  of  something  or  somebody. 
The  heroic  figure  of  Izaquil  was  gone  from  its 
pedestal. 

"Izaquil  has  fallen,"  cried  Larry,  pointing  to 
the  prostrate  figure  of  the  founder  of  the  brother 
hood. 

"The  prophecy  is  fulfilled,"  I  exclaimed.  "What 
did  the  book  of  history  say?  'As  long  as  Izaquil 
stands,  so  long  will  the  sun  god's  worshippers 
remain  in  power !' ' 

"It  wasn't  necessary  for  Izaquil  to  fall  to  let  us 
know  that  his  priests  were  out  of  business,"  said 
Larry. 


304  THE    HOUSE    ON    STILTS 

Although  the  earth's  quakings  seemed  to  be 
lessening  in  violence,  we  found  great  difficulty  in 
making  our  way  to  the  end  of  the  tunnel.  Now 
and  then,  we  encountered  wide  fissures  in  the  floor 
of  rock,  and,  had  we  not  been  guided  by  the  rays 
from  the  copper  lamps,  we  should  surely  have  been 
engulfed.  At  other  places,  we  were  obliged  to 
surmount  piles  of  rock,  loosened  from  the  roof  of 
the  tunnel;  and,  at  still  others,  we  found  ridges 
and  hillocks,  as  high  as  our  heads,  which  had 
been  heaved  up  by  the  subterranean  forces. 

Mont  Lazarre  was  a  splendid,  terrifying  spec 
tacle.  Miles  away,  though  we  were,  we  could 
easily  have  read  the  finest  print  by  the  light  he 
cast.  At  intervals,  sheets  of  flame,  hundreds  of 
feet  in  height,  shot  upward  from  his  crest,  and  the 
detonations  from  his  subterranean  explosions 
sounded  like  the  continuous  bombardment  of  great 
guns.  During  the  intervals  between  the  displays 
of  flame  at  the  crater's  mouth,  the  belching  smoke 
was  tinted  with  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  At 
other  times,  magnificent  showers  of  sparks  were 
hurled  into  the  clouds.  To  add  to  the  glory  of  the 
sight,  miles  of  sparse  underbrush  and  stunted 
forest,  near  the  summit  of  the  volcano,  had  caught 
fire,  and  now  formed  a  crown  of  deeper  red  upon 
the  mountain's  top. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  305 

Within  two  hours,  the  central  flames  died  down, 
the  quakings  ceased,  and  the  forest  fire  had  burned 
itself  out  against  the  greener  and  less  inflammable 
foliage  of  the  lower  mountain  slopes.  But  the 
smoke  from  the  crater  still  showed  red  and  green 
and  blue,  as  the  chemicals  in  the  great  under 
ground  furnace  were  consumed,  and  the  threat 
ening  rumblings  at  the  roots  of  the  mountain  con 
tinued  with  unabated  regularity. 

"That  was  just  a  small  exhibition — a  try-out, 
so  to  speak/'  remarked  Larry,  as  we  prepared  to 
turn  in  for  a  few  hours  more  of  sleep.  "One  of 
these  fine  days,  the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain  will 
sure  get  busy,  and  then  look  out.  When  that  hap 
pens,  I  want  to  be  well  on  my  way  home." 

Early  next  morning,  Larry  and  I  constructed 
an  elevator  at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel.  We 
found  hundreds  of  feet  of  chain  of  various  sizes 
in  the  monks'  workshop,  and,  with  the  great  vari 
ety  of  mechanical  appliances  which  the  busy  artif 
icers  had  had  in  use  and  in  stock,  we  found  no 
difficulty  in  constructing  a  "lift"  which  was  quite 
as  serviceable  as,  and  more  easily  manipulated 
than,  the  huge  windlass  used  by  the  mutes.  After 
we  had  tested  the  apparatus  carefully  with 
weights,  it  was  ready  for  use. 

We  left  the  caverns  forever  shortly  before  noon. 


306  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

A  thorough  canvass  of  the  situation,  in  which  all 
three  participated,  convinced  us  that  it  would  be 
best  to  move  our  abode  nearer  to  St.  Croix.  If  we 
hoped  ever  to  capture  Varney,  it  was  imperative 
that  we  be  near  enough  to  watch  his  movements, 
and  take  advantage  of  any  indiscreet  move  he 
might  make,  that  would  enable  us  to  get  him  by 
strategy. 

The  fifteen  miles  that  separated  the  tunnels 
from  the  island  capital  made  any  systematic  watch 
of  his  movements  from  them  quite  out  of  the  ques 
tion.  Added  to  this,  the  earnest  wish  of  Norelle 
to  be  nearer  her  parents,  and  the  fact  that  all 
trace  of  the  Voodoo  people  in  the  vicinity  had 
disappeared,  made  our  change  of  base  as  desirable 
as  it  seemed  safe. 

Before  leaving  the  sun  god's  caverns,  we  took 
the  precaution  of  "blacking  up,"  as  Larry  and  I 
had  done  on  the  memorable  night  when  we  res 
cued  the  negro  boy  from  the  Voodoos.  Norelle,  I 
thought,  made  one  of  the  handsomest  mulatto  girls 
I  had  ever  seen,  and  Larry  and  I,  who  dyed  our 
faces  a  darker  hue,  would  have  passed  anywhere 
for  Carib  plantation  hands.  Our  clothes  had  be 
come  much  worn  and  tattered  during  the  last  few 
days,  and  only  required  a  little  treatment  with 
earth  and  ashes  to  render  them  quite  as  unpre- 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  307 

possessing  as  the  garments  usually  worn  by  the 
negroes  whom  we  were  counterfeiting. 

We  made  the  descent  to  the  ground  in  safety, 
after  first  lowering  such  articles  and  implements 
as  we  should  be  likely  to  need  on  the  journey 
through  the  jungle. 

What  a  sight  met  our  eyes  when  we  reached 
the  base  of  the  cliff ! 

The're  was  the  wreck  of  the  great  building,  and 
there,  in  the  midst  of  the  riven  timbers,  with  their 
faces  distorted,  and  their  limbs  shattered  or  torn 
from  their  trunks,  were  the  dumb  monks.  On  the 
top  of  this  mass  of  debris,  thrust  up  between  two 
timbers,  was  the  head  of  Xaca.  Even  in  death, 
he  seemed  to  command  the  brotherhood.  His  face 
was  calm;  his  wide-open  eyes  looked  bravely  into 
eternity;  and  as  I  regarded  that  noble  counte 
nance  for  the  last  time,  a  great  wave  of  pity  and 
sorrow  swept  my  heart.  He  had,  indeed,  cruelly 
condemned  us  all  to  death;  but,  after  all,  he  had 
translated  the  light  as  it  had  been  given  him  to 
see — and  who  shall  say  that  he  had  not  gone  to 
his  reward? 

Scrambling  over  the  wreckage  was  a  fighting, 
screaming  flock  of  condors,  and,  now  and  then, 
we  saw  the  slinking  forms  of  wild  dogs,  rats, 
and  smaller  creatures.  The  "sacred  birds"  were 


308  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

claiming    their    last     meal    from    the     monks. 

Sickened  with  horror,  we  hastened  from  the 
scene,  and  plunged  into  the  forest. 

We  had  proceeded  five  miles  or  more  in  the 
direction  of  St.  Croix  before  we  encountered  any 
one.  Then  we  came  upon  a  negro  cabin  in  a  little 
clearing  of  the  jungle,  and  found  that  the  occu 
pants  were  about  to  leave  their  home.  All  their 
household  belongings  had  been  loaded  upon  a  cart, 
and  the  head  of  the  family  was  preparing  to  act 
as  beast  of  draught  between  the  shafts. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  asked  Larry,  in 
Spanish. 

"We  are  running  away  from  the  mountain," 
replied  the  man.  "We  go  to  Angeles,  where  my 
brother,  who  is  rich,  has  a  sailboat.  We  will  go 
with  him  to  Haiti,  for  this  island  is  obeah.  The 
Yellow  Queen  she  says  it  will  be  all  burned  up  in 
three  days." 

"Can't  the  Yellow  Queen  save  the  island?"  asked 
Larry.  "Can't  she  put  out  the  fires  in  the  moun 
tain?" 

"She  can,  but  she  will  not,"  replied  the  man. 
"She  is  angry  with  her  people,  and  will  punish 
them." 

"Why  is  she  angry?" 

"That  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  man,  as  he  ad- 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  309 

justed  the  straps  about  his  shoulders.  "But  you 
can  see  that  she  is  very  angry,  indeed,  by  the  way 
the  mountain  is  roaring  and  the  earth  is  trem 
bling.  Make  haste  and  go  away  from  the  island, 
or  you,  too,  will  be  burned." 

As  we  trudged  through  the  forest  and  passed 
by  sugar  and  banana  plantations,  we  came  upon 
many  other  negroes  who  were  fleeing  from  the 
wrath  of  the  queen  and  the  mountain.  All  seemed 
to  have  received  Joan  of  Lazarre's  warning  in 
some  mysterious  way,  and  all  were  resolved  to 
place  as  many  miles  as  possible  between  them 
selves  and  "Father  Mountain"  before  the  end  of 
the  three  days'  limit.  None  of  them,  however, 
seemed  to  have  any  definite  idea  of  the  cause  of 
the  queen's  anger,  although  one  old  woman  told 
us  that  "strange  white  folks"  had  made  Gabrielle 
obeah,  or  accursed. 

Near  the  outskirts  of  St.  Croix,  we  found  a 
cabin  which  seemed  to  be  admirably  suited  to  our 
purpose.  It  consisted  of  three  rooms,  partly  fur 
nished,  and  had  just  been  vacated  by  a  panic- 
stricken  family  of  blacks.  The  old  negro  who 
owned  it  lived  next  door,  in  a  hut  of  similar  pro 
portions.  He  was  overjoyed  at  the  prospect  of 
finding  new  tenants  so  soon  after  losing  the  old. 

"There's  hardly  any  use  in  renting  the  place  for 


310  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

three  days,"  said  Larry,  to  draw  the  old  man  out, 
"for  the  island  will  be  burned  up  on  Saturday." 

"Do  not  believe  it  for  a  moment,"  cried  the  old 
man.  "That  is  all  the  yellow  woman's  talk.  She 
is  turning  the  heads  of  all  the  people  on  the  island. 
It  is  ridiculous.  The  mountain  has  been  there 
where  it  is  all  my  life,  and  has  never  destroyed 
the  island  yet — has  it?  And  I  am  an  old  man,  a 
very  old  man." 

The  dimness  of  our  landlord's  vision  probably 
prevented  him  from  detecting  our  make-up.  At 
any  rate,  he  gave  no  sign  to  indicate  that  he 
doubted  our  color,  and  did  all  in  his  power  to 
make  us  comfortable  in  our  new  home.  When  he 
left  us,  to  return  to  his  little  cottage  on  the  other 
side  of  the  whitewashed  fence,  he  begged  us  to 
call  upon  him  if  we  stood  in  need  of  anything; 
he  would  gladly  do  for  us  all  that  he  would  have 
done  for  his  own  children. 

All  that  night,  our  sleep  was  disturbed  by  the 
rumbling  of  the  mountain,  and  when  I  arose  to 
look  out  of  the  window,  upon  two  or  three  occa 
sions,  I  found  the  landscape  bathed  in  light  from 
the  fires  of  the  volcano. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  CABINET  STANDS  UP 

EARLY  on  the  following  morning,  we  went  to  St. 
Croix.  There  were  many  negroes  hurrying  back 
and  forth  along  the  roads,  and  our  appearance  at 
tracted  no  attention.  Indeed,  the  scared  faces  of 
those  we  met,  white  as  well  as  black,  showed  that 
they  had  no  thoughts  for  anything  but  their  own 
personal  safety. 

The  volcano  was  the  one  topic  of  conversation. 
Business  was  suspended  in  the  town.  Knots  of 
people  were  gathered  on  the  street  corners  and  in 
front  of  the  Heraldo — the  principal  newspaper  of 
the  city — and  mounted  soldiers  were  galloping  up 
and  down  the  streets,  waving  their  sabres  and 
shouting  commands. 

The  governor-general,  it  seemed,  had  issued 
orders  prohibiting  the  assembling  of  more  than 
ten  persons  in  one  place  in  the  city,  and  it  was  to 
compel  obedience  to  this  manifesto  that  the  cav 
alry  was  engaged. 

311 


312  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

As  we  proceeded  toward  the  Hotel  Madrid,  we 
learned  that  the  people  of  the  town  had  held  a 
mass  meeting,  the  night  before,  in  the  plaza,  al 
most  under  the  windows  of  the  governor-general's 
palace,  and  had  demanded  that  Sagastor  seize  the 
foreign  ships  in  the  harbor  and  convert  them  into 
ferryboats,  for  the  use  of  the  citizens  who 
wished  to  flee  to  Haiti,  in  order  to  escape  the 
volcano. 

The  governor-general  had  not  only  refused  to 
accede  to  this  demand,  but  had  sent  his  cavalry 
to  disperse  the  meeting.  Several  men  and  one 
woman  had  been  killed  in  the  riot  that  followed, 
and  on  every  hand  we  now  heard  curses  and 
threats  for  the  "upstart  governor,"  mingled  with 
the  cries  of  terror  on  the  lips  of  those  who  were 
fleeing  from  the  volcanic  fires. 

When  we  neared  the  harbor,  we  observed  an 
unusual  number  of  vessels.  There  were  war  ships 
from  Spain  and  Italy,  merchant  craft  from  Eng 
land  and  Germany,  and,  to  our  surprise  and  joy, 
an  ironclad,  flying  the  Stars  and  Stripes. 

"It  must  be  the  Texas,"  said  Larry  as  he  shaded 
his  eyes  to  look  out  on  the  bay.  "General  Pier- 
son's  request  has  been  finally  granted  by  the 
department." 

The  glad  reunion  which  took  place  at  the  hotel 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  313 

that  day,  may  be  better  imagined  than  described. 
But  it  required  some  manoeuvring  for  us  to  secure 
an  audience  with  either  the  consul  or  his  wife  on 
account  of  our  disguises.  Norelle  was  finally  ad 
mitted,  however,  on  the  plea  that  she  had  been 
engaged  as  maid  to  the  American  consul's  wife. 
The  general  himself  then  came  out,  and  invited 
the  two  counterfeit  negroes  into  his  office.  It  was, 
indeed,  fortunate  that  we  had  not  attempted  to 
return  in  our  own  proper  characters;  for  we 
learned  that  the  governor-general  had  had  the 
hotel  under  constant  surveillance  ever  since  our 
departure. 

After  Mrs.  Pierson  had  shed  a  few  tears  of  joy, 
and  the  first  rapid  fire  of  questions  had  been 
answered  on  both  sides,  we  learned  that  Billings 
and  Hollis  had  returned  to  the  States  on  the  last 
regular  steamer.  The  general  had  paid  the  cap 
tain  the  amount  of  fare  agreed  upon  by  Larry  and 
myself  when  we  set  out  from  New  Orleans,  and 
had  added  to  that  amount  a  sum,  which  he  would 
not  divulge,  to  recompense  Billings  for  the  loss 
of  the  Foam. 

"I  felt  that  I  owed  Captain  Billings  more  than 
my  entire  bank  account,"  said  General  Pierson. 
"Had  it  not  been  for  him  and  his  little  steamer, 
you  boys  would  not  have  come  to  the  island,  and 


314  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

we  should,  in  all  probability,  have  fallen  victims 
of  the  Voodoos." 

Both  Larry  and  I  protested  strenuously  against 
the  idea  of  the  general  paying  our  fare  from  the 
States,  and  demanded  to  know  just  how  much  he 
had  given  Billings.  But  General  Pierson  was 
quite  stubborn  about  the  matter,  and  not  only 
refused  pointblank  to  tell  us  what  he  had  paid, 
but  became  irritated  when  we  pressed  the  sub 
ject. 

"You  are  my  guests,"  he  exclaimed,  "and,  as 
such,  have  no  right  whatever  to  ask  what  I  have 
expended  for  you.  The  beggarly  sum  I  paid  the 
good  captain  was  altogether  too  small  to  mention, 
so  please  dismiss  the  subject.  I  pride  myself, 
gentlemen,  on  belonging  to  that  older  school,  of 
which  Lincoln  was  such  a  fine  example,  which 
valued  friendship  and  worth,  honor  and  hospital 
ity,  above  filthy  lucre." 

"If  you  take  a  cent  from  them,  general,  I  shall 
be  grievously  disappointed,"  said  Mrs.  Pierson, 
who  had  overheard  the  argument.  "Remember 
that  we  of  the  South  value  hospitality  above 
almost  everything  else.  These  gentlemen  are  our 
guests,  as  you  have  said,  my  dear,  and  it  is  a  fine 
state  of  affairs  if  we  cannot  pay  the  little  bill, 
without  causing  such  a  great  to-do.  If  you  say; 


THE   HOUSE   ON    STILTS  315 

another  word,  both  the  general  and  myself  will 
be  highly  insulted." 

We  compromised  on  an  agreement  that  the  con 
sul  should  tell  us  the  sum  he  had  paid,  and  accept 
reimbursement  in  the  event  of  our  catching  Var- 
ney  and  collecting  the  reward  offered  for  his 
return. 

"Now  that  that  is  all  settled,"  said  Larry,  "sup 
pose  you  and  I,  Jack,  go  and  get  the  crook." 

"Suppose  that  we  go  out  and  stop  the  volcano," 
I  retorted,  never  dreaming  that  he  was  in  earnest. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  not  willing 
to  take  him?"  asked  Larry,  quite  seriously. 

"I'd  give  a  year  of  my  life  to  get  him,"  I  ex 
claimed.  "I'm  with  you  in  any  game  you  want  to 
play." 

"Then  come  along,"  commanded  the  detective. 
"We  can't  get  him  here." 

We  made  our  adieux  to  the  Piersons,  promising 
to  return  in  the  evening,  and  proceeded  to  the 
street.  On  the  way  out  of  the  hotel,  Sullivan  un 
folded  his  plan. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  he  asked,  as  he 
concluded. 

"I  think  it  is  a  wonder,"  I  exclaimed.  "It  is  a 
stroke  of  genius,  an  inspiration,  and  I  can  offer 
only  one  objection." 


316  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

"What  is  that?" 

"It  won't  work." 

"It's  got  to  work,"  he  cried.  "We'll  make  it 
work.  If  it  doesn't,  you  and  I  will  figure  as  prin 
cipals  in  a  garrotting  party  in  the  governor-gen 
eral's  palace  yard  about  sun-up  to-morrow.  Of 
course,  if  you're  afraid,  I'll  let  you  out  of  it." 

"And  try  something  safer?"  I  asked  hopefully. 

"I'll  try  nothing  else,"  he  replied,  with  the  ring 
of  grit  and  determination  which  I  had  learned  to 
know  so  well.  "I'm  going  in  alone,  if  you  won't 
come  with  me." 

"I'm  with  you  to  the  death,  old  man,"  I  ex 
claimed,  flushing  with  shame  at  the  thought  of 
deserting  him.  "It  wasn't  because  I  was  afraid 
— it  was  because  I  feared  the  plan  wouldn't  work, 
and  we  should  be  prevented  from  adopting  some 
plan  that  would." 

"This  offers  the  biggest  results  in  the  quickest 
time,  and  I've  studied  out  a  thousand  schemes," 
said  Larry.  "I  knew  you  wouldn't  get  cold  feet 
at  the  end  of  the  game.  Now,  the  first  thing  for 
us  to  do  is  to  get  a  change  of  clothes." 

We  removed  a  portion  of  our  burnt  cork  at  the 
waterside,  and  then  visited  a  second-hand  cloth 
ing  shop,  where  we  bought  a  couple  of  Spanish 
infantry  lieutenants'  uniforms,  explaining  to  the 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  317 

proprietor  that  we  had  been  out  on  a  spree  and 
had  been  robbed  of  our  own.  As  we  gave  the 
man  twice  as  much  as  the  uniforms  were  worth, 
he  did  not  evince  any  unpleasant  inquisitiveness, 
and,  after  a  more  thorough  cleansing  of  our  faces 
and  hands  in  his  shop,  we  emerged,  looking  quite 
military  and  respectable. 

Our  next  objective  point  was  the  harbor  mas 
ter's  office,  where,  with  the  assistance  of  a  gold 
piece,  we  managed  to  gain  an  immediate  audience 
with  the  official,  and,  with  fifty  more  of  the  same 
coins,  persuaded  him  to  agree  to  the  proposal  we 
came  to  make.  This  was  to  change  the  relative 
positions  in  the  harbor  of  the  American  war  ship 
Texas,  and  the  Spanish  man-of-war,  Christobel — 
the  change  to  be  made  immediately  after  dark. 

At  the  time  when  we  were  negotiating  with  the 
harbor  master,  the  Texas  was  lying  a  mile  or  so 
off  the  wharf,  and  the  Christobel  was  within  a 
cable  length  of  the  dock  at  the  foot  of  Concepcion 
Street,  the  principal  thoroughfare  leading  from 
the  governor-general's  palace  to  the  sea. 

Larry  gave  as  an  explanation,  his  wish  to  bring 
the  Texas  nearer  shore,  because  his  inamorata 
was  going  aboard  that  evening,  and  he  wished  to 
spare  her  the  discomfort  of  an  uncomfortable  trip 
in  a  small  boat.  No  harm  would  be  done  by  ef- 


318  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

fecting  the  change,  and,  if  any  objection  were 
made,  the  harbor  master  could  order  them  back 
again  on  the  morrow.  The  astute  official  pocketed 
the  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  which  Larry 
had  placed  in  his  hands,  winked  wisely,  and  gave 
us  his  sacred  word  of  honor  that  he  would  carry 
out  our  wishes. 

"It's  a  ten-to-one  bet  that  he  disappoints  us," 
remarked  Larry,  as  we  left  the  place,  "but  it  was 
the  only  thing  to  do.  Even  should  he  go  back  on 
his  word,  we'll  be  able  to  manage,  if  the  rest  of 
our  programme  goes  through  right." 

It  was  then  necessary  for  us  to  wait  for  dark 
ness,  before  taking  the  next  step,  and  we  put  in 
the  intervening  time  lounging  about  the  vicinity 
of  the  plaza.  Fortune  was  kind  to  us,  for  we  soon 
fell  in  with  a  half-drunken  Spanish  captain,  who 
was  attached  to  the  governor-general's  staff. 

Sagastor,  he  confided  to  us,  had  just  kicked  him 
out  of  his  presence,  but  he  would  have  his  revenge 
— for  was  he  not  of  a  far  better  family  than  the 
upstart  governor-general?  Was  his  blood  not  of 
the  finest  and  purest  Castilian?  And  the  gov 
ernor-general — the  Lord  only  knew  from  what 
hog  pen  he  had  sprung!  Besides  that,  Sagastor 
was  an  arrant  coward,  and  he  would  expose  him 
as  such.  Was  he  not  preparing,  even  at  that  very 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  319 

moment,  to  flee  the  country?  That  was  why  he 
kept  the  Christobel  in  the  harbor,  instead  of  send 
ing  it  to  Cuba,  where  it  was  needed  to  overawe 
the  miserable  revolutionists!  He  put  on  a  brave 
*  front  before  the  people,  did  this  upstart  Sagastor, 
but  he  was  really  quaking  inside  of  his  gold  lace 
from  fear  of  the  volcano. 

He  denounced  the  prophecy  of  the  Yellow  Queen 
as  rot,  fit  only  to  frighten  children  and  old  women ; 
nevertheless,  he  believed  every  word  she  uttered, 
and  was  preparing  to  get  away  from  the  danger 
as  fast  as  his  chicken-livered  soul  would  let  him. 
And  it  was  this  creature — this  renegade,  rich 
pig-head — this  scum  of  the  earth — that  had  dared 
to  kick  him  out  of  the  apartment,  and  hold  him 
up  to  the  ridicule  of  his  fellows! 

The  least  he  could  do  to  preserve  his  honor, 
stormed  our  acquaintance,  was  to  have  the  gov 
ernor-general's  blood  for  it,  and  he  would  chal 
lenge  him  to  mortal  combat.  Then  he  concluded 
his  recital  by  weeping  copiously  and  drinking 
another  bottle  of  wine,  at  our  expense. 

By  the  time  our  tipsy  friend  had  emptied  one 
more  bottle,  he  had  given  us  the  password  for  the 
outer  gate  of  the  palace,  and  had  confided  to  us 
the  fact  that  Sagastor  was  to  meet  the  members 
of  his  cabinet  at  nine  o'clock  that  evening,  to  con- 


320  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

sider  the  wording  of  a  proclamation  which  would 
placate  the  populace.  The  governor-general  him 
self,  the  officer  said,  intended  to  go  aboard  the 
Christobel  early  in  the  morning,  ostensibly  for  a 
visit  to  Cuba.  But  he  knew — trust  a  Castilian 
captain  to  know! — that,  when  he  was  once  safely 
on  the  ship,  he  would  stay  aboard  until  she 
dropped  anchor  in  the  harbor  of  Madrid.  Sagas- 
tor's  valuables,  the  captain  said,  were  to  be  taken 
on  board  the  war  ship  that  evening. 

When  we  had  advanced  thus  far  into  the  offi 
cer's  confidence,  Larry  suggested  that  we  secure 
a  private  dining  room,  in  which  to  continue  the 
discussion.  The  captain  agreed  to  this,  all  the 
more  readily  when  Larry  said  that  he  would  assist 
him  in  the  preparation  of  the  challenge  to  be  sent 
to  the  insulting  Sagastor. 

•Ten  minutes  after  we  had  entered  the  more  pri 
vate  quarters,  the  Spanish  officer  was  in  a  state 
of  somnolence,  and  Larry  had  changed  uniforms 
with  him.  We  left  him  stretched  out  on  the  table, 
and  gave  the  waiter  a  silver  piece,  with  instruc 
tions  to  keep  him  locked  safely  in  the  room  until 
he  was  sober. 

"By  that  time,"  said  Larry,  as  we  hurried  out 
of  the  restaurant,  "we  shall  have  avenged  the  cap 
tain's  dear  honor  for  him." 


THE    HOUSE    ON    STILTS  321 

It  was  now  growing  dark,  and  we  visited  a  liv 
ery  stable,  where  we  hired  a  closed  carriage.  At 
the  same  place  we  rented  a  coachman's  hat  and 
cloak,  Sullivan  explaining  to  the  man  in  charge 
that  he  wished  me,  his  orderly,  to  drive  for  him 
that  evening. 

I  put  on  the  coachman's  clothes,  mounted  the 
box,  and,  with  Larry  inside  the  coach,  drove  to  a 
corner  of  the  street,  within  half  a  square  of  the 
governor-general's  palace.  Larry  then  bought  a 
piece  of  rope  at  a  near-by  store;  I  changed  back 
to  the  lieutenant's  uniform,  concealing  the  hat 
and  cloak  within  the  carriage,  and  we  were  ready 
for  our  adventure. 

We  waited  until  ten  minutes  after  the  palace 
clock  had  counted  nine,  then  walked  boldly  up  the 
palace  steps,  gave  the  countersign  to  the  guard, 
and  proceeded  to  the  governor-general's  cabinet 
chamber.  Larry  carried  the  rope  wrapped  up  in 
paper,  under  his  arm. 

The  upper  hall  was  deserted,  save  for  a  solitary 
soldier,  standing  guard  outside  the  door  of  the 
governor-general's  office.  As  we  approached,  the 
man  rather  sleepily  presented  his  rifle,  and  said : 

"His  excellency  is  closeted  with  the  cabinet,  and 
cannot  be  disturbed." 

"Oh,  he'll  see  us,"  exclaimed  Larry.  "Won't 
you  take  in  our  cards?" 


322  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

"Impossible,  senors,"  replied  the  soldier,  low 
ering  his  weapon  slightly.  "You  must  wait  until 
to-morrow." 

"But  you  will  be  good  enough  to  show  him  our 
cards  immediately  after  the  meeting,  won't  you?" 
asked  Sullivan,  fumbling  in  the  breast  of  his  coat, 
as  though  for  a  card. 

"Certainly,  captain,"  agreed  the  guard,  drop 
ping  the  butt  of  his  gun  to  the  floor,  and  stretch 
ing  forth  his  hand  for  the  card. 

"Here  it  is."  As  he  spoke,  Larry's  revolver  came 
like  a  flash  from  the  inside  of  his  coat,  and  was 
pressed  against  the  soldier's  throat. 

"One  word,  and  you  die,  sir,"  continued  Sulli 
van,  without  raising  his  voice  above  a  low  con 
versational  tone.  "Jack,  take  a  piece  of  the  rope 
and  tie  him." 

It  required  no  more  than  two  minutes  for  me 
to  bind  the  guard,  hand  and  foot.  Then  Larry 
placed  a  gag  in  his  mouth,  and  rolled  him,  face 
down,  in  the  corner  of  the  hall. 

"If  you  utter  a  sound,  or  attempt  to  roll  over,  I 
will  kill  you  instantly,"  said  Larry.  "If  you  re 
main  quiet,  you  may  live. 

"Now  for  Varney,"  said  Sullivan,  tiptoeing  to 
ward  the  cabinet  chamber.  "Get  out  your  guns, 
and  cover  the  crowd,  as  soon  as  the  door  opens." 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  323 

Before  entering,  Larry  deftly  made  a  running 
noose  at  the  end  of  the  rope,  of  which  there  was 
some  twenty  feet  remaining,  after  the  guard  was 
bound,  and  hung  it  in  the  crook  of  his  elbow. 

Then  he  opened  the  door  softly,  and  walked  in. 
I  followed  noiselessly  at  his  heels.  Our  four  re 
volvers  immediately  covered  the  little  party  of 
men  within  the  room. 

Varney  was  at  the  far  end  of  a  long  table, 
facing  the  door.  Five  other  men  were  seated  at 
the  table,  two  on  a  side,  and  one  at  the  end  near 
est  us. 

"Hands  up,  gentlemen,  or  we'll  make  vacancies 
in  every  cabinet  place!"  said  Larry,  in  sharp  in 
cisive  tones. 

The  governor-general's  five  counsellors  gave  one 
frightened  look  at  the  revolvers  pointing  into  the 
room,  and,  instantly,  ten  hands  were  stretched 
toward  the  ceiling.  Varney  was  the  only  one  who 
failed  to  obey.  He  half  arose  from  his  seat,  with 
a  snarl  like  that  of  a  wild  beast. 

"Sit  down,  Varney!"  ordered  Larry,  with  a  ring 
of  menace  in  his  voice  "We've  come  for  you,  my 
man,  and  it's  up  to  you  whether  you  go  back  alive 
or  nailed  up  in  a  box." 

Varney  collapsed  in  his  chair,  and  his  face  grew 
green. 


324  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  continued  Sullivan  to  the 
cabinet  members,  who  were  still  holding  their 
hands  aloft,  "you  will  all  of  you  please  march  to 
the  rear  of  the  room,  behind  Mr.  Varney,  alias 
Sagastor,  face  the  wall,  and  still  hold  your  hands 
as  high  above  your  heads  as  you  know  how.  The 
first  man  that  drops  his  arms  will  get  a  bullet  in 
the  back  of  his  head." 

The  order  was  obeyed  almost  as  quickly  as  it 
was  issued.  The  five  men  arose  to  their  feet,  hur 
ried  to  the  end  of  the  room,  faced  the  wall,  and 
pressed  their  hands  against  the  tapestry. 

"Now,  Jack,  tie  that  crook's  hands  behind  his 
back,"  said  Larry,  "and  don't  mind  it  if  you  hurt 
him  some." 

I  knotted  the  rope  around  Varney's  wrists  be 
hind  his  coat,  and  then,  with  a  loop  about  his 
throat,  jerked  his  hands  almost  up  to  the  nape 
of  his  neck. 

"That's  a  good,  workman-like  job,"  said  Larry 
approvingly.  "And  now,  as  soon  as  we  close  his 
mouth  and  put  some  blinders  on  him,  he'll  be 
ready  to  travel." 

"I'll  have  your  lives  for  this!"  hissed  the  pris 
oner. 

"Shut  up !"  exclaimed  Larry.  "You'll  be  lucky 
if  you  keep  your  own  life." 


THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS  325 

Varney  made  no  more  remarks,  for  in  another 
moment  he  was  gagged  and  hoodwinked.  For  the 
latter  purpose,  Sullivan  appropriated  an  orna 
mental  table  cover,  wrapping  the  cloth  loosely 
around  the  embezzler's  head,  and  tying  it  under 
the  chin. 

"It  reminds  me  of  a  black  cap,"  remarked 
Larry,  "and  I'm  sorry  that  it  isn't  one." 

"Don't  smother  him,"  I  urged.  "Are  you  sure 
he  can  get  air?" 

"I'd  just  a  little  rather  shut  off  his  wind  than 
not,"  retorted  the  detective;  but  I  noticed  that  he 
assured  himself  that  our  prisoner  was  given  all 
the  air  he  needed. 

"We  are  now  going  to  leave  you,  gentlemen," 
said  Larry,  in  a  louder  tone,  to  the  members  of 
the  cabinet,  who  were  still  facing  the  wall,  with 
their  hands  upraised.  "I  forbid  you  to  stir  hand 
or  foot  or  head  for  fifteen  minutes.  At  the  end 
of  fifteen  minutes,  you  may  lower  your  hands; 
and  fifteen  minutes  later  you  may  leave  the  room, 
and  go  to  your  homes.  But,  as  you  value  your 
lives,  do  not  stir  out  of  this  chamber  inside  of  half 
an  hour.  It  is  now  just  half -past  nine.  Do  you 
understand?" 

"Oh,  perfectly,  sefior!" 

"We  will  not  move  a  muscle,  senor!" 


326  THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS 

"We  will  obey  the  seiior  with  fidelity !" 

These  exclamations,  and  others  of  like  import, 
came  from  the  five  gentlemen  facing  the  wall. 

Larry  seized  Varney  by  the  coat  collar,  jerked 
him  roughly  to  his  feet,  and  marched  him  out  of 
the  room. 

"Understand  one  thing  before  we  start,"  said 
Sullivan,  addressing  the  head  muffled  in  the  table 
cloth.  "If  there  is  any  attempt  at  rescue,  or  if  we 
have  any  trouble  whatever  getting  away  from 
here,  I'll  put  a  bullet  through  your  ear  as  soon  as 
the  fun  begins.  Now — march !"  He  pressed  the 
barrel  of  his  revolver  against  the  prisoner's  head, 
to  emphasize  the  remark. 

Varney  made  some  unintelligible  reply,  but 
nodded  his  head  to  indicate  that  he  understood. 

"Better  lock  the  door,  and  take  the  key  with 
you,"  advised  Sullivan,  as  we  passed  out  into  the 
hall.  I  did  as  he  directed,  and  we  proceeded 
along  the  corridor,  past  the  guard,  who  still  lay 
trussed  like  a  chicken  in  the  angle  of  the  wall  and 
floor,  and  down  the  broad  stairway  to  the  front 
entrance. 

"This  is  his  excellency's  prisoner,"  said  Larry, 
to  the  outer  guard. 

The  soldier  betrayed  his  amazement  at  sight  of 
the  strange  figure,  muffled  in  the  tablecloth,  but 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  327 

did  not  offer  to  detain  us.  Had  he  known  now  near 
death  he  was  at  that  moment,  his  face  might  have 
expressed  some  emotion  other  than  surprise. 

It  required  no  more  than  three  minutes'  time 
to  walk  Varney  to  the  carriage  down  at  the  cor 
ner,  and  for  me  to  don  my  coachman's  hat  and 
cloak,  and  mount  the  box. 

Larry  pushed  the  prisoner  into  the  vehicle,  and 
then  climbed  in  after  him.  "Drive  six  or  seven 
blocks  north,  and  then  east  a  few,  before  going  to 
the  wharf,"  he  said,  as  he  slammed  the  carriage 
door. 

How  I  contrived  to  hold  the  reins,  in  my  excite 
ment,  it  would  be  hard  for  me  to  tell.  The  horse, 
in  obedience  to  lines  and  whip,  broke  into  a  delib 
erate  trot,  and  we  were  soon  out  of  sight  of  the 
palace.  There  was  no  sign  of  excitement  about 
the  mansion  to  indicate  that  our  bold  move  had 
been  discovered,  and  I  concluded  that  the  five 
gentlemen  of  the  cabinet  were  still  obeying  in 
structions,  with  their  hands  upraised  against  the 
wall. 

We  evidently  had  nothing  to  fear  after  we  left 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  palace,  for  the  peo 
ple  of  the  city  were  overwhelmed  with  terror. 
The  rumbling  mountain  to  the  north  was  again 
waving  his  flags  of  flame  in  the  sky,  and  the  name 


328  THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS 

of  the  Yellow  Queen  was  on  every  tongue.  Had 
the  populace  known  that  we  had  the  governor- 
general  in  the  carriage,  I  am  certain  that  none 
would  have  attempted  a  rescue.  He  was  too  cor 
dially  disliked  for  any  of  them  to  interest  them 
selves  in  his  behalf;  and,  besides  that,  the  problem 
of  escaping  from  the  volcano  was  now  the  only 
one  that  stirred  the  citizens. 

We  finally  reached  the  wharf,  after  a  round- 
•about  tour  of  the  streets,  and,  hiring  a  boatman, 
loaded  in  our  prisoner,  and  rowed  with  him  to  the 
Texas.  The  bribe-taking  official  had  kept  his 
word,  and  we  found  the  great  white  battle  ship 
where  the  darker  Spanish  man-of-war  had  been. 

"I  have  an  American  prisoner,"  announced 
Larry  to  the  officer  of  the  day,  who  came  to  scru 
tinize  us  over  the  rail.  "May  I  take  him  on 
board." 

"By  whose  order  or  request?"  asked  the  officer. 

"By  the  order  of  the  United  States  consul,  Gen 
eral  Pierson,  and  by  the  orders  of  half  the  police 
chiefs  in  the  States,"  cried  Larry  boldly. 

"The  consul's  orders  are  sufficient,"  replied  the 
officer.  "You  may  come  aboard,  sir." 

When  we  had  climbed  the  ladder  and  had  seen 
Varney  safely  in  irons,  Larry  and  I  were  escorted 
to  the  captain's  cabin,  where  that  officer  put  us 


THE   HOUSE    ON   STILTS  329 

through  a  cross-examination.  He  was  at  first 
inclined  to  think  that  he  would  be  running  counter 
to  some  naval  regulation,  if  he  should  take  charge 
of  Varney  without  the  personal  or  written  orders 
of  the  consul.  We  finally  persuaded  him  to  hold 
the  embezzler,  however,  until  we  could  fetch  Gen 
eral  Pierson  aboard  to  vouch  for  the  extradition 
of  the  prisoner. 

"We  expect  a  distinguished  visitor  aboard  ship 
this  evening,"  said  Captain  Mayhew,  at  the  con 
clusion  of  our  interview. 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Sullivan. 

"His  excellency,  Governor-General  Sagastor," 
replied  the  captain  proudly.  "He  has  already  sent 
his  luggage  on  board,  and  we  expect  him  to  follow 
it  early  in  the  morning." 

"You  were  not  expecting  him,  were  you?"  said 
Sullivan,  with  a  wink  in  my  direction. 

"Not  at  all,"  admitted  the  captain.  "In  fact,  it 
is  an  entire  surprise.  But  we  will  feel  honored 
to  entertain  him,  nevertheless." 

"The  consul  has  already  let  me  into  the  secret," 
said  Larry,  "and  I  think,  captain,  that  you  may 
count  on  entertaining  his  excellency  during  the 
homeward  trip.  He  is  going  back  with  you  to  the 
United  States." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  YELLOW  QUEEN'S  LAST  JOKE 

LARRY  and  I  hastened  with  the  carriage  to  the 
Hotel  Madrid,  intending  to  fetch  the  general  to 
the  wharf  and  to  the  Texas.  A  shower  of  cinders 
from  Mont  Lazarre  was  falling,  and,  at  times,  the 
scorching  atoms  so  blinded  me  that  I  could 
scarcely  pick  out  the  road. 

The  streets  were  filled  with  hurrying  men  and 
women,  whose  pallid  faces  showed  greenish  white 
in  the  weird  illumination  made  by  the  volcano. 
Now  and  then,  our  carriage  rattled  past  a  group 
of  kneeling  figures  or  singing  religionists;  while 
everywhere  babies  were  crying,  and  little  children 
were  wandering  about  the  streets,  screaming  for 
lost  parents.  Many  of  the  people  whom  we  met 
were  bent  double  with  burdens  of  household  goods, 
which  they  were  carrying  Heaven  knows  whither ; 
while  here  and  there  we  heard  the  sound  of  break 
ing  glass,  and  saw  skulking  figures,  which  pro 
claimed  the  presence  of  thieves  even  in  the  shadow 
of  death  itself. 

330 


THE  HOUSE  ON  STILTS  331 

Leaving  the  carriage,  we  hurried  up  to  the 
hotel,  and  ran  into  the  arms  of  General  Pierson. 

"Have  you  seen  her?"  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he 
caught  sight  of  us. 

"Seen  whom?"  I  asked;  and  then,  as  an  icy 
hand  seemed  to  clutch  my  heart,  I  added:  "No- 
relle?" 

"Yes — Norelle,"  continued  the  old  man,  in 
anguished  tones.  "She  has  disappeared." 

"When?    From  where?"  we  asked,  in  a  breath. 

"From  the  hotel — only  a  few  minutes  ago," 
cried  the  general.  "She  was  in  her  apartment, 
preparing  to  retire  for  the  night ;  for  she  was  all 
worn  out  from  excitement  and  fatigue,  and  we 
advised  her  to  go  to  bed  early.  Her  mother  and  I 
were  in  the  room  adjoining  hers,  and  heard  her 
scream.  Simultaneously  with  her  cry,  we  both 
heard  the  barking  of  a  dog." 

Larry  and  I  exchanged  horrified  glances,  as  the 
old  man  stopped,  put  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes, 
and  sobbed  like  a  child. 

"And  you  ran  into  the  room,  and "  I  began. 

"And  she  was  not  there."  General  Pierson 
completed  the  sentence  for  me. 

"It  was  the  Yellow  Queen's  messenger — the 
dog-man?"  said  Larry,  in  a  scarcely  audible 
voice. 


332  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

"How  had  they  gone?"  I  asked.  "Out  of  the 
door,  or  the  window?" 

"The  window,"  replied  the  general,  "for  the 
door  was  locked." 

"How  high  is  the  window  from  the  nearest 
roof?"  I  asked.  "Your  apartments  are  on  the 
third  floor,  and  he  certainly  could  not  have  car 
ried  her  with  him  from  that  height,  even  though 
he  possessed  the  strength  of  a  giant." 

"There  is  a  two-story  building  immediately  in 
the  rear  of  the  hotel,  and  under  Norelle's  win 
dow,"  explained  the  general."  "Beyond  that  is  a 
one-story  shed.  Oh,  what  a  fool  I  was,  not  to 
take  warning,  and  protect  my  little  girl  when  I 
knew  she  was  in  danger!  I  am  that  poor  child's 
murderer,  just  as  surely  as  though  I  had  taken  a 
dagger  and  plunged  it  into  her  dear  heart  with 
these  useless  old  hands!  It  will  kill  her  mother 
— I  know  it  will  kill  her.  The  poor  woman  is  even 
now  lying  in  a  faint  upstairs."  As  he  concluded 
his  recital,  the  general  again  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands,  and  his  form  shook  with  sobs. 

"You  go  right  upstairs,  and  revive  Mrs.  Pier- 
son,"  commanded  Larry,  in  a  resolute,  hopeful 
tone.  "Do  not  give  up  hope  until  you  find  that 
hope  is  gone.  Jack  and  I  will  find  the  little  girl,  we 
promise  you ;  for  we  know  just  where  to  find  her." 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  333 

"She  is  gone — she  is  dead  before  now!"  sobbed 
the  old  man. 

"She  is  not  dead,  I  tell  you,"  cried  Larry,  in  a 
tone  half  of  anger  and  half  of  command.  "Now, 
you  go  upstairs  at  once,  and  cheer  the  mother  as 
best  you  can.  We  will  bring  your  daughter  back 
to  you  bright  and  early  in  the  morning.  Now, 
listen  to  what  I  have  to  say.  The  island  is  doomed. 
Our  only  chance  of  escape  is  on  board  the 
Texas.  Take  Mrs.  Pierson  to  the  ship  at  daylight. 
We  will  rejoin  you  there  as  early  as  possible.  Var- 
ney  is  already  on  board,  and  in  irons.  Will  tell 
you  all  about  his  capture  when  we  have  more  time. 
Tell  Captain  Mayhew  to  have  steam  up  and  be 
ready  to  leave  as  soon  as  we  join  you.  Do  you 
understand  and  remember  it  all?" 

The  general  forgot  his  grief  in  the  effort  to 
assimilate  the  various  facts  and  directions,  and 
Larry  and  I  raced  out  of  the  hotel,  and  made  for 
the  nearest  livery  stable.  There  was  not  a  person 
about  the  stable  when  we  reached  it,  but  we  found 
four  horses  in  the  stalls.  Without  wasting  pre 
cious  time  in  a  search  for  the  proprietor,  we 
picked  out  the  best-looking  pair,  saddled  them  as 
fast  as  we  could,  mounted,  and  rode  northward 
in  the  direction  of  the  blazing  mountain. 

"To  the  cave?"  I  asked. 


334  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

"Sure,"  replied  Larry.  "That's  where  the  Yel 
low  Queen  is,  and  that's  where  your  girl  wfll  be 
taken  by  the  dog-man." 

How  we  covered  those  terrible  miles,  and  lived 
to  reach  the  end,  is  a  miracle  in  my  eyes.  The 
air  was  like  a  furnace ;  the  cinders  fell  in  a  blister 
ing  hail ;  the  earth  yawned,  and  from  the  fissures 
belched  poisonous  fumes,  which  burst  into  flame. 
The  roar  of  subterranean  guns  grew  louder  and 
louder ;  and  at  times  the  whole  mountain  slope  up 
which  we  toiled  rocked  like  a  ship  in  a  gale. 

But  still  we  pressed  doggedly  on,  always  facing 
and  nearing  the  crater.  At  some  time  before 
dawn,  we  reached  our  goal;  and,  as  we  came  to 
the  mouth  of  the  cave  where  we  had  dined  that 
night  with  the  Yellow  Queen,  we  threw  ourselves 
from  the  backs  of  our  exhausted  horses,  drew  our 
revolvers,  and  rushed  into  the  cavern,  anticipating 
a  battle. 

Joan  of  Lazarre  was  in  the  cave,  with  Papaloi 
and  Mamanloi  on  either  hand;  but  we  looked  in 
vain  for  the  dog-man  and  his  girlish  victim.  The 
yellow  torches,  smoking  from  crevices  of  the 
walls,  revealed  many  faces  and  figures;  but  all 
were  black,  and  none  resembled  the  misshapen 
messenger  of  evil. 

"Come  in,  Fair  Hair  and  Eed  Head,"  said  the 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  335 

Yellow  Queen,  with  a  shrill  laugh,  as  we  paused 
irresolutely,  after  making  our  sensational  en 
trance,  "and  shoot,  if  you  wish.  Did  you  come  to 
kill  me?" 

"Where  is  Miss  Pierson?  Where  is  your  horri 
ble  dog-man?"  I  cried. 

"They  are  together,"  she  replied.  "When  Joan 
of  Lazarre  gives  the  word,  your  little  pale-faced 
flower,  with  all  her  sweetness,  all  her  beauty,  will 
be  his." 

"Your  life  shall  pay  the  penalty  for  this  hor 
ror!"  I  cried,  pointing  my  revolver  at  the  woman's 
face. 

"Shoot,  Fair  Hair,"  she  shrilled,  with  another 
laugh.  "Shoot,  and  hasten  the  hour  of  that  happy 
marriage.  I  knew  you  would  come  to  see  me  as 
soon  as  you  discovered  that  your  little  bird  had 
left  her  cage.  I  knew  you  would  come  with  your 
partner,  Red  Head,  and  I  knew  you  would  draw 
your  pistol,  and  make  brave  threats.  So  I  ar 
ranged  to  have  the  dog-man  and  his  bride  safely 
hidden  away,  and  left  orders  that,  if  Joan  was  in 
jured  or  killed,  the  marriage  should  be  celebrated 
at  once.  After  the  wedding,  as  soon  as  the  dog- 
man  tires  of  his  little  wife,  he  will  throw  her  into 
the  crater  of  Father  Mountain.  How  do  you  like 
the  programme,  Fair  Hair?" 


336  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

"You  are  a  monster — a  devil!"  I  cried,  tears  of 
rage  and  grief  starting  to  my  eyes,  as  the  fiendish 
woman  pictured  the  fate  of  my  love.  "What  are 
your  terms  for  her  release?  How  much  money 
do  you  want  for  the  white  girl?'* 

"Money?"  she  screamed.  "What  does  Joan  of 
Lazarre  want  with  money?  If  she  had  wanted 
gold,  she  might  have  had  all  there  was  in  Gabri- 
elle,  years  ago.  She  wants  happiness.  Will  money 
buy  that?  She  wants  love.  Will  money  buy  that? 
She  wants  you,  Fair  Hair.  Will  money  buy  you?" 

"Do  you  think  I  could  love  you  after  what  you 
have  done — after  what  you  are  doing  to-night?" 
I  cried.  "Do  you  think  I  could  ever  have  any  feel 
ing  in  my  heart  for  you,  except  loathing,  and  dis 
gust,  and  hate,  after  the  way  you  have  plotted  to 
destroy  the  one  girl  in  all  the  world  that  I  do 
love?" 

"Yes,  you  would  love  me,"  she  replied,  arising 
from  her  seat,  and  coming  toward  me  with  the 
sinuous  tread  of  a  panther.  "You  would  love  me, 
even  though  Father  Mountain  was  covering  us 
with  a  blanket  of  molten  lava  as  your  arms  were 
thrown  about  me,  and  your  lips  met  mine." 

Her  terrible  black  eyes  read  me  through  and 
through.  As  I  gazed,  spellbound,  into  their 
fathomless  depths,  I  forgot  Norelle,  forgot  Larry 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  337 

at  my  side,  forgot  the  thundering  of  the  mountain, 
the  awful  heat  from  the  underground  furnaces — 
forgot  my  soul. 

"You  will  be  the  mate  of  Joan  of  Lazarre,"  she 
continued,  sinking  her  voice  almost  to  a  whisper. 
"You  will  be  her  king,  and  rule  over  an  empire  of 
the  southern  seas.  You  will  put  aside  the  pale- 
faced  girl,  and  forget  that  you  ever  knew  her. 
You  will  be  Joan's,  and  Joan's  only." 

"Yes — but  you  will  send  the  girl  home  in 
safety,"  I  replied. 

The  words  were  my  words,  but  I  seemed  to  be 
some  one  else.  I  could  see  nothing  but  those  mar 
velous  eyes,  could  hear  nothing  but  that  wonder 
ful  voice ;  I  was  a  bird  in  the  spell  of  a  serpent. 

"The  white  girl  shall  go  home  in  safety,"  an 
nounced  the  queen,  throwing  her  snakelike  arms 
around  my  neck  as  she  spoke.  "Fair  Hair  and 
Joan  shall  rule  the  mountain  and  the  island.  Go 
get  the  dog-man  and  his  little  prisoner,  and  send 
her  home  with  Red  Head."  She  addressed  the  last 
words  to  some  of  the  negroes  in  the  cave,  and  sev 
eral  of  them  hurried  to  the  entrance,  in  obedience 
to  the  command. 

"And  the  sooner  we  get  started,  the  better," 
exclaimed  Larry.  "It  sure  is  getting  hot  in  this 
place." 


338  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

The  blacks  who  had  left  the  cave  now  returned, 
and  with  them  were  the  hideous  monster  and  his 
prisoner.  I  scarcely  recognized  the  poor  girl,  so 
pale  and  wan  she  was.  As  she  tottered  into  the 
cavern,  and  her  eyes  rested  upon  Larry  and  me, 
she  uttered  a  scream  of  joy. 

"I  knew  you  would  come  for  me,  Jack,"  she 
cried.  "I  knew  you  would  come  to  get  me.  Oh, 
dearest,  I  have  had  such  a  terrible  experience! 
You  will  never  know  how  I  have  suffered." 

"You  are  to  go  home  at  once,"  exclaimed  the 
queen  harshly.  "Make  haste,  before  Father 
Mountain,  in  his  anger,  shall  burn  you  up." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad !"  breathed  Norelle.  "Let  us 
go.  Let  us  end  this  horrible  nightmare,  and  leave 
the  dreadful  island  as  soon  as  possible." 

"The  horses  are  at  the  door,"  said  Larry,  tak 
ing  Norelle  by  the  arm,  and  moving  with  her 
toward  the  entrance. 

I  remained  standing  where  I  was,  and  felt  as 
though  I  were  in  a  dream.  I  seemed  to  have  lost 
all  power  of  motion,  and  the  prospect  of  losing 
Norelle  forever  did  not  touch  my  heart  in  the 
least.  Neither  did  I  feel  the  suffocating  heat  that 
was  now  coming  from  the  groaning  earth,  or  mind 
the  sulphurous  gases  that  were  clutching  at  my 
lungs. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  339 

"Hurry,  dear  Jack!  We  must  make  haste/' 
cried  Norelle. 

"I  am  not  going,"  I  said  slowly,  speaking  as  one 
in  a  trance.  "I  will  stay  on  the  mountain." 

"Not  going?"  she  echoed,  in  tones  of  amaze 
ment  and  horror.  "What  do  you  mean,  Jack? 
What  ails  you?  Larry,  tell  me  what  is  the  mat 
ter  with  Jack.  He  acts  so  queerly!" 

Norelle  turned  from  me  to  Sullivan,  with  a  look 
of  terrified  inquiry. 

"I  will  stay  on  the  mountain."  I  repeated  the 
words  like  a  parrot.  I  felt  the  will  of  the  Yellow 
Queen  dictating  to  me  through  the  stifling  atmos 
phere. 

"He'll  follow  us  down  the  mountain  after  a 
while,"  said  Larry,  making  an  attempt  to  set  her 
mind  at  rest.  "He  has  orders  to  stay  here  until 
you  get  safely  home." 

Intuitively,  Norelle  grasped  the  terrible  mean 
ing  of  the  situation.  "You  are  to  remain  as  a 
hostage.  Your  life  is  the  price  of  mine!"  she 
cried,  in  sharp  notes  of  agony.  "If  that  is  so,  we 
shall  die  together,  Jack.  If  you  stay,  I  stay.  No 
power  shall  tear  us  apart,  after  all  we  have  suf 
fered  together." 

As  she  spoke,  she  released  Sullivan's  arm,  and, 
walking  back  into  the  cave,  seated  herself  upon 


340  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

a  block  of  stone,  and  calmly  folded  her  arms. 

"You  have  not  long  to  wait,"  cried  the  queen 
sharply.  "The  boiling  lava  is  now  mounting  to 
the  edge  of  the  bowl.  In  a  few  minutes,  it  will 
overflow,  and  go  rolling  down  the  sides  of  the 
mountain,  to  destroy  every  living  thing  in  its 
path." 

"Then  it  will  find  me  here,  unless  Jack  goes  with 
me,"  replied  Norelle,  in  resolute  tones.  "If  he 
must  die,  he  shall  not  die  alone." 

Suddenly,  the  Yellow  Queen  burst  into  a  shrill 
laugh.  "Run  home,  my  children !"  she  cried,  with 
another  burst  of  uncanny  merriment.  "Run  home, 
my  dears,  and,  as  you  go,  laugh  a  little  at  the  joke 
played  by  Joan  of  Lazarre.  I  thought  I'd  amuse 
you  here  on  the  mountain,  while  the  sparks  were 
flying  up  above,  and  the  drums  were  beating  down 
below.  But  now  the  joke  is  played,  and  you  had 
better  hasten  home,  if  you  ever  hope  to  laugh 
again." 

"Then  we  may  go!"  I  cried,  seeming  to  regain 
my  senses,  as  she  withdrew  from  me  the  com 
pelling  force  of  her  eyes  and  will.  "Is  it  true 
that  you  do  not  want  me  to  stay?" 

"It  was  all  a  joke — a  merry  joke,"  she  shrilled, 
urging  us  toward  the  entrance.  "Think  some 
times  of  Joan,  and  laugh — laugh — laugh." 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  341 

We  gained  the  entrance,  where  the  horses  were 
standing. 

"But  you  will  come  with  us,  will  you  not,  and 
save  your  life  ?"  I  asked,  as  I  placed  Norelle  upon 
my  horse,  and  prepared  to  run  beside  her,  with 
my  hand  upon  the  saddlebow.  Larry  mounted  his 
horse,  and  headed  him  down  the  incline. 

"My  father  wants  me,"  said  the  Yellow  Queen, 
gazing  into  my  eyes  with  a  look  of  yearning  which 
I  could  not  mistake.  "My  father  wants  me,  and 
I  will  go  to  him." 

"But  you  may  come  with  us,"  cried  Norelle,  her 
heart  touched  by  the  despair  in  Joan's  eyes, 
though  she  did  not  know  the  cause.  "We  are  to 
leave  the  island  at  once,  and  will  be  safe  from  the 
terrible  volcano.  Come  with  us  to  the  blessed 
land  where  there  are  no  mountains  spouting  fire." 

"And  what  would  I  do  there?"  asked  the  Yel 
low  Queen  sadly.  "What,  but  watch  your  happi 
ness  ?  No — Joan's  place  is  here.  The  great  spirit 
of  the  mountain,  which  she  has  commanded  for  so 
many  years,  now  commands  her  to  come — and  she 
obeys.  Farewell,  Fair  Hair!  Farewell,  Red 
Head!" 

For  a  moment  she  stood  in  the  falling  cinders, 
with  the  gray  light  of  the  smoke-filled  dawn  shin 
ing  in  her  eyes.  Then,  suddenly,  she  turned  her 


342  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

face  to  the  north,  and  ran  like  a  chamois  up  the 
steep  trail  toward  the  crater. 

We  stood  transfixed  for  a  moment,  and  then 
Larry  started  his  horse  up  the  precipitous  path  in 
pursuit.  But  it  was  little  more  than  an  impulse; 
for  the  horse  stumbled,  slid,  and  came  to  a  stop 
before  he  had  gone  fifty  feet. 

But  another  took  the  rough  trail — one  who 
could  climb  as  well  as  Joan  of  Lazarre. 

A  dark  form  shot  out  of  the  tunnel's  mouth,  and 
went  up  over  rock  and  vine,  over  log  and  ditch, 
on  all  fours.  We  wondered  what  the  hideous 
creature  was  about.  Nor  had  we  long  to  wait 
before  we  knew. 

Joan  reached  the  crest  of  awful  heat.  We  saw 
her  pause,  saw  her  throw  up  her  hands,  and 
thought  we  heard  her  cry.  Then  she  disappeared 
over  the  brink,  and  we  knew  that  she  had  thrown 
herself  into  the  arms  of  Father  Mountain. 

Half  a  minute  later,  we  saw  the  hairy  monster 
scale  the  rock  which  formed  the  lip  of  the  bowl, 
and  vanish.  He  had  gone  to  do  her  bidding  in 
death,  faithful  as  he  had  been  in  life. 

No  time  was  to  be  wasted.  Down  the  steep 
path  we  plunged,  at  the  imminent  risk  of  life 
and  neck;  but  we  knew  that  our  very  lives  de 
pended  on  the  speed  we  made.  The  poisonous 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  343 

gases  thrown  out  by  the  crater  and  by  the  widen 
ing  fissures  in  the  earth  almost  suffocated  us  at 
times.  Often,  we  had  to  make  wide  detours  to 
escape  a  yawning  chasm;  more  than  once,  the 
rocking  of  the  earth  threw  the  horses  from  their 
feet,  and  dashed  their  riders  to  the  ground.  But 
on  we  raced,  and  nearer  grew  the  housetops  of 
St.  Croix. 

Larry  and  I  took  turns  at  riding  and  running, 
and  we  managed  to  make  the  journey  in  better 
time,  and  with  less  fatigue,  than  I  had  dreaded  at 
the  start. 

When  we  had  made  half  the  journey,  we  hap 
pened  to  look  back  at  the  mountain,  and  were  hor 
rified  to  see  that  it  had  changed  its  form.  Its  cap 
was  gone — melted  away — and  down  from  the 
rumbling  edges  gushed  a  dull  red  flood,  which 
wiped  out  tree  and  rock  as  it  made  toward  the 
sea. 

"The  lava — the  lava!"  yelled  Larry.  "And  it's 
going  faster  than  we  are.  We'll  be  lucky  if  we 
beat  it  to  the  wharf." 

But  we  had  ample  time  to  spare ;  for,  after  the 
fiery  torrent  had  rolled  a  few  miles,  its  cooling 
surface  slackened  pace. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  terrible  scenes  in  the 
city,  as  we  hurried  through  the  streets.  Mobs 


344  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

were  surging  this  way  and  that,  without  purpose 
and  without  hope.  Children  were  lying  where 
they  had  been  trampled  under  foot — some  crip 
pled,  some  dead.  Shops  were  broken  open,  and 
their  contents  scattered  on  the  pavements;  and 
everywhere,  and  all  the  time,  the  sound  of  piteous 
wailing  rent  the  air. 

Two  men  tried  to  rob  us  of  our  horses  as  we 
neared  the  dock,  and  might  have  succeeded,  had 
we  not  gone  armed.  Before  they  would  abandon 
their  purpose,  Larry  and  I  were  obliged  to  fell 
them  both  with  the  butts  of  our  revolvers. 

As  we  hurried  down  the  levee,  we  heard  a  shout, 
and  saw  a  small  boat  from  the  Texas  lying  not 
more  than  fifty  feet  offshore.  General  Pierson 
was  in  the  bow;  and,  as  soon  as  he  saw  us,  he 
stood  up,  and  yelled  for  very  joy. 

The  boat  drew  up  to  the  wharf,  and  we  got  in, 
leaving  our  faithful  horses  to  find  their  way  home 
— if,  indeed,  there  was  any  home  for  them  to 
reach.  Just  as  we  pushed  off,  several  men  leaped 
from  the  dock,  and  swam  for  the  boat.  Two  of 
them  managed  to  reach  the  side,  and,  seizing  the 
gunwale,  would  have  swamped  us,  had  not  the 
sailors  beaten  them  off  with  their  oars. 

Their  fear-maddened  faces,  as  they  sank  into 
the  bay,  have  haunted  me  for  years. 


THE   HOUSE   ON   STILTS  345 

"What  about  our  prisoner?"  asked  Larry  of  the 
general,  after  Norelle  had  assured  him  that  she 
was  none  the  worse  for  her  terrible  journey  to 
the  mountain. 

"Still  safely  in  irons,  but  defiant,"  replied  the 
consul. 

"Defiant,  is  he?"  cried  Larry.  "It's  small  ex 
cuse  he's  got  for  being  uppish,  after  what  he's 
done." 

"He  says  that  you  may  have  him,  but  you  can 
whistle  for  the  money,"  continued  General  Pier- 
son. 

"Oh!"  Is  that  a  fact?"  chuckled  the  detective. 
"And  won't  he  be  after  giving  you  any  clue  as  to 
the  present  whereabouts  of  that  boodle?" 

"No,"  replied  the  consul,  "but  he  claims  it  is 
safe." 

"He  never  was  righter  in  all  his  life,"  exclaimed 
Sullivan,  "for  it  is  sure  enough  safe — safe  on 
board  the  Texas,  where  he  obligingly  sent  it  last 
night,  thinking  that  he  was  putting  it  aboard  the 
Spaniard.  I  guess  we've  made  a  pretty  good 
clean-up  of  the  Planters'  Bank  case — eh,  Jack?" 

"It  looks  pretty  good  to  me,"  I  admitted. 

"You  could  never  guess,  Norelle,  who  is  on 
board  the  Texas,"  said  the  general,  as  we  neared 
the  gray  side  of  the  battle  ship. 


346  THE   HOUSE   ON  STILTS 

"Never  in  the  world.  The  President  of  the 
United  States?" 

"Doctor  Strong/'  said  the  consul  smilingly. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad !"  she  cried.  "Oh,  Jack,  dear, 
aren't  you  glad  that  Doctor  Strong  is  safe?" 

"Of  course  I  am — tremendously  glad,"  I  replied ; 
but  there  was  a  feeling  in  my  heart  which  made 
me  rather  doubt  the  sincerity  of  my  words. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Norelle,  Larry,  and  I  were 
leaning  against  the  stern  rail  of  the  Texas,  watch 
ing  the  harbor  of  St.  Croix  recede  in  the  distance. 
Mont  Lazarre  was  spouting  flame  and  smoke  like 
a  blast  furnace;  the  hail  of  cinders,  even  at  that 
distance,  was  scorching  hot;  and  the  atmosphere 
was  like  an  oven. 

When  we  had  steamed  about  ten  miles,  a  deafen 
ing  explosion  occurred  on  the  island. 

"Look — oh,  look!"  cried  Norelle  "Mont  La 
zarre  is  splitting  in  two." 

Even  as  she  spoke,  the  mountain  parted,  and 
a  gulf — a  mile  wide,  and  of  measureless  depth — 
was  made  in  the  land  from  north  to  south.  The 
city  of  St.  Croix  fell  into  the  abyss.  Its  build 
ings,  streets,  and  parks  vanished  like  the  dissolv 
ing  views  upon  a  screen. 

The  island  of  Gabrielle  was  gone. 


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